Seek and Sell
by Chase998
Summary: Following the mission to Beman, Sam Carter finds a new life. Not all is well, though, as Pentagon suspicions arise. Second half of SEEK AND FIND.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is the second half of Seek and Find. I suggest reading that one first to realize how everyone got in their current situations. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy it! **

**Chapter 1**

The house was dark. The shades had all been drawn to enhance the sulking going on inside the medium one-floored gray clapboard structure. The sky was dark with heavy clouds that held a mix of rain and snow. Winter was coming, most assuredly bringing bizarre cold temperatures and snow up to the eyeball level within a month's time. It was Colorado, and no one living there expected any less from October through the next spring.

Sam Carter sat nestled in her couch, watching a slow fire burn in the hearth. She sipped at her wine, feeling lonely for the first time since leaving Stargate Command. The time on her hands, though, was eating at her like an acid. She had never been this stagnate in all her career despite taking the teaching position at the United States Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. There had always been something to do in the SGC, to the point that she might not be home for weeks at a time. Now, she really was home for weeks at a time, and the monotony was being to get old very fast.

Jack O'Neill had called only once to check up on her, and even then, it seemed like a courtesy. She sensed he was somehow angry with her for leaving. Or, perhaps it was more a feeling of betrayal or abandonment. She had tried to explain to him that she needed to leave. She tried to tell him that her cup was running over with sadness and confusion associated with being inhabited by an alien, the duty to kill that alien's mate, and the general everyday blahs of death and destruction that went with the job of being a member of SG1. The missions had become nothing more than war operations. There was no time to explore, no time to find something enjoyable about seeing new planets and races. The team always seemed to end up running for the gate and for their very lives. They had taken one step forward and two steps back far too many times even, she suspected, for O'Neill's tastes.

Daniel, of course, was being Daniel – caring to a fault as best he could without offending O'Neill and providing updates of personnel in the base that didn't fall under the "classified" category. She had been stripped of her clearance the moment she walked out of Cheyenne, put on a "need to know" status. If Colonel Simmons and Senator Kinsey had their way, she would never even see the entrance to the mountain again in her lifetime. And perhaps that would be just as well. It was time to start putting some things behind her, even if her father was still with the Tok'ra. He would probably outlive her with the help of his symbiote anyway, and who would want to go through that?

Hammond had even called once to check up on her. His voice was as kind as ever, and that made the sting of leaving even worse. She respected the man, both as an officer and as a longtime friend of her father's. Sometimes, he had been her surrogate, getting tough when it was called for and being a shoulder to lean on when it counted. He was the glue that held the program together. His duty to that had been extended to Sam even after she had left.

Finally, there was Teal'c. She had expected him to remain impassive, accepting her decision to leave as one of evolution. That assumption was shattered when he showed up on her doorstep the week before, alone, to "observe any difficulties" she may have been having after leaving the SGC. The thought of it brought a small smile. The man had saved her life on the cliff, which was a huge thing. He also cared about the little things, though. O'Neill had done well in teaching Teal'c the finer points of the human culture, creating a well-versed alien in the art of emotional outreach. It was Teal'c's own sense of restraint that had perfected the skill.

There was no adequate way to assure her team that she was fine with her decision to leave the SGC. There was no adequate way because she had been having a hard time convincing herself she had made the right decision. Carter had anticipated she would miss the action of the program, but she never thought she would ache inside for the adrenaline rush.

Maybe she had left because she had locked herself inside the lab too much, like O'Neill had suggested before she left. Maybe it had just been a lack of sunlight, and perhaps she should have taken him up on his offer to go fishing. For all the good that would have done, that is. She still would have gone to P3X-324, and Wheeler still would have died with her command decision. Antalus would still have been beaten and killed, and all those who had died before him would still be dead. In truth, she felt as though she had not made an impact on the fates of those people. They were dead, and she had been a witness and perhaps even an instrument of their demise.

Janet Fraiser had actually tried to talk Sam out of leaving, which was surprising at the very least. There were times Carter could not fathom why Janet stayed with the program. There was something much deeper for her friend than just the practice of medicine. Janet had a goal, a purpose. She healed people in her work and fulfilled her duties without fail. All the government desired of Carter was that she figure out ways to kill people and blow things up faster and better than had ever been done previously with no particular regard for the long ended outcome. They didn't care about the explorer part of her, just the warrior part.

Carter stretched her neck against the back of the couch and snuggled down deeper into the quilt. The fire burned steadily, and she found herself lost in the flames again. She could barely stop the memories from flowing, one after another. Hers, Jolinar's – it all seemed to meld together in one long stream of consciousness that gave way to regrets and fear. As she had become accustomed to doing in the quiet moments, she pushed the thoughts and memories down, forcibly blocking them from coming to the surface. There was no way to undo the past, and her future held nothing in it that might repeat the perils she faced in the Stargate program. The worst danger that might befall her was a paper cut from grading tests.

She sipped at her wine again, reveling in the fact that she had caught up on grading papers for her theoretical astrophysics class at the Academy. There was time to relax that evening, and she intended to take every moment of it for herself. She would probably fall asleep on the couch again, having done so a few nights in the past week. She had forgotten how rigorous academics at Colorado Springs had been. She never knew it tasked instructors as much as it did students.

Her mind was drifting when the doorbell rang, snapping Carter back to reality with a jolt. She let go with a mild curse as her wine sloshed out of the stemmed glass and onto the quilt. The bell rang again, and she quickly got to her feet, setting the glass down and padding in bare feet down the hallway to the front door.

Turning on the porch light, she peered out the window to find a woman in a parka, shivering. There was something familiar about the face that was darkened by the shadows cast from the light. Sam opened the door, feeling she knew the person well. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, Carter, you can let me in. I'm freezing my ass off out here," the woman groused, standing next to a large suitcase. A taxicab was pulling away slowly in the drifting snow.

Recognition caught up with Sam, and she realized just who was standing at the door. "Rachel?" she asked with growing delight.

Rachel Dekker. It was a face and name Carter had not thought of in years since leaving the Pentagon's research facility. Rachel had been among the top minds in nanite technology, leading the charge to develop smarter machines to bring about the future years before anyone thought possible. Sam and she had met when Carter was doing a brief stint at the facility as part of another ongoing project for the Air Force.

"Hey, Sam," Rachel said, revealing her face from the hood of the parka. Her smile was fond as the two embraced after not seeing one another in over seven years.

Sam stepped back to allow Rachel into the doorway, offering to take her coat. "My God, it's been so long."

Rachel dragged in the suitcase and closed the door behind her. "It would have been longer if I hadn't managed to escape DIA. Does anything arrive on time there?"

Carter smiled, knowing the frustrations of flying in and out of Denver International Airport. "Occasionally," she said, leading the way into the living room with Rachel in tow. "What brings you out here? I thought you were still in DC?"

"It's a long story. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you about it."

"Wine okay?" Sam asked, showing Rachel to the couch.

"At this point, cough syrup is a step up from airline swill."

The wine was retrieved from the refrigerator and brought out in an ice bucket. Sam set it upon the coffee table and poured a new glass for Rachel, topping off her own.

Rachel accepted the goblet offered her. Sam looked at her friend, not seeing any real difference since the last time they had worked together. The dark hair was a little longer, accentuating a face that had high cheekbones and a rather tall and superb build that had a tendency to stop men cold in their tracks. There was something underneath, though, that seemed darker, almost sadder. Rachel's eyes seemed older and tired. It was uncanny that the woman looked how Sam felt.

"Okay," Sam said, sitting down and leaning into the corner of the couch, "so why the trip out here?"

"What – I can't fly out to see an old friend once in a while?" Rachel answered slyly.

If there was one thing Dekker was, it was deliberate. She was the least spontaneous person Carter had ever known. "Unless your habits have changed, you never do anything on a lark without a purpose."

"True," she answered, taking a healthy taste of wine. She rested the glass on the arm of the couch. "Heard you're out of the SGC."

Carter was caught completely off guard. A nervous chuckle came forth, and she scrambled to effectively deny knowledge of the program. "Where?"

Rachel got a bored look on her face at the prospect of the cloak and dagger game beginning to blossom. "Relax, Carter. I'm still have clearance and I'm in the know, just like I know you're a physics nerd at the Academy now."

"I'm an instructor, and it's theoretical astrophysics," she countered.

"So, like I was saying, you're a nerd. I'm sitting in a meeting the other day thinking about how the change of pace must be killing you and how those kids must be getting on your nerves. Then it came to me. I thought, 'She could work here, make good money, still be a part of the program, and get a little sun in the process.'"

Sam was trying to absorb all that Rachel was saying but found herself utterly lost back at the "nerd" comment. "Rachel, can we back up a bit or at least slow down? You're confusing the hell out of me. Where is 'here'?"

"California."

"You were transferred?"

"No, I'm a civilian contractor now."

Another unexpected turn in the story appeared. "You're not military anymore?"

"No. My father's corporation needed a head for its military research unit, and he made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

Sam looked down at Rachel's hand to see if there was still a wedding band on it. It was there, along with the rock of an engagement ring. "I thought you and Ronin would have been at the Pentagon until you retired. You two worked so hard to get that program on its feet."

Rachel's face dropped slightly. She took another sizeable sip of wine, pausing a moment afterward. "Ronin died three years ago."

Sam reeled at the shock of the revelation. Rachel and Ronin McConnell had been a heavy item for a long while until Ronin had finally gotten his ideal mate to marry him. For all intents and purposes, they spent so much time together in the lab beforehand that they might as well have made the coupling official. Sam easily brought Ronin's face to mind. He was rugged and tall, dark, from an Army family. Intelligent and quick with a razor sharp wit that sometimes made it hard to concentrate on the project at hand. There were certainly no dull moments when he was around.

"I'm sorry, Rachel," Sam said, "I didn't know. I saw the ring and just assumed . . . "

"Don't be," Rachel answered. "You couldn't have known." She looked down at the rings, spreading her fingers apart, then rolling them into a fist. "I haven't gotten around to being able to take the rings off. I guess I should do that one of these days."

"What happened?" Sam asked softly.

"A late night at work. The two of us were driving back to Alexandria. A drunk went left of center. Ronin's side of the car took most of the impact. He was killed instantly."

"What about you?"

Rachel smiled wryly. "Broken bones and cuts. If my leg hadn't been broken, I probably could have walked away." She grabbed the bottle off the table and refilled her glass. "That's when my father offered me the division job in California. Once I got out of the hospital, I knew I couldn't stay where Ronin and I had lived. The Air Force was itching to slash the payroll, anyway, and the accident was a forced discharge waiting to happen."

Sam was still in shock over the news of Ronin's death. "I'm sorry," she said again, at a loss for anything else to say.

Rachel's chin quivered slightly until she brought it under control. "Yeah, me too," she said quietly. Then she looked away. It had always been important to Rachel to have total control over her emotions. For the most part, she did, unless Ronin had something to do with it. The man had melted her heart, and that had not appeared to change, even in death.

Once she seemed to regain her composure, she sat back in the couch, casually laying her arm across the back. "So, enough of that. You want a job?"

Sam was uncomfortable with the sudden shift in topic, but Rachel was quick and to the point. "What kind of job?"

"The kind that gets you back in the SGC without the emotional baggage of an off-world team. Strictly R and D."

Research and development had been one of Carter's career aims early on, but she had not jumped into it with both feet since leaving the Pentagon. She had gone directly into the SGC, leaving behind any aspirations of creating and guiding new technologies. Her job in the Stargate program had been one that was concentrated more on backward engineering than theoretical creation.

"Doing what?"

A sly grin crept across Rachel's face. "Equipment engineering. Faster, stronger, better performance."

"What kind of equipment?"

"The exploratory mission prep kind."

It dawned suddenly on Sam what that meant. "M.A.L.P.'s?" she asked with surprise.

The Mobile Analytic Laboratory Probe was crucial to the success of SGC mission. It acted as the eyes and ears, and even the nose, of the teams before stepping onto unknown planets. Clad with the latest in exploratory technology, the MALP could decipher atmospheric contents, temperatures, seismic activity, and could relay video images back to the control room of the SGC. The remotely operated vehicle was the mainstay of the scouting program for the Stargate crews.

"Yeah," Dekker answered. "Who the hell do you think manufactures the damned things?"

"But I never saw your name associated with them," Sam said, shaking her head.

Rachel shrugged. "Not surprising. I administrate the people who work on them. We do the servicing when they're put through the wringer, then we ship them back to Cheyenne. Standard stuff. Only now, the Air Force wants a new toy. They want something that will blow the current model out of the water, and cost is not an issue. I figured there was no one better qualified to determine what faster, stronger and better meant than you."

"You're talking bottom-floor engineering?"

"A new model with your fingerprint on the design, yes," Rachel answered with a nod and looking very pleased that she seemed to have found the right tactic to take with Carter. "Might even require a trip or two to the SGC for test runs through the gate."

Sam's head was reeling with the possibilities. This is what she had wanted for a long time, and it would let her into the program again without putting her back in the circumstances that had caused her retirement in the first place. There was no denying that she missed seeing the people who worked at Cheyenne. Perhaps it might even ease the growing tension between Carter and O'Neill if she were involved once more.

"So? What do you think?" Rachel asked, breaking Sam's contemplation.

Sam scratched at her forehead absently. "I think this is all pretty sudden."

And it was. Sam was trying to replay the entire conversation since Rachel had walked through the door, attempting to pinpoint the exact moment where things had gotten weird.

"So was your exit from the SGC, but you did that anyway," Rachel countered. "C'mon, it'll be fun. You'll get a nice office with a view – not that views seem important to you after working in the world's deepest basement. You'll have access to the latest sim software - which we manufacture, by the way. And you'll be working with the best minds out there to make this new model. My company beats anything the government has going." A proud yet devious smile grew on Rachel's face, as though she clearly had a hand up on the military when it came to resources to build the future.

"I don't know, Rachel," Sam said, getting to her feet. She walked over to the fire and stared down into it. "There's a reason I left the SGC. I'm not sure I'm ready to go walking back in there and be so close to it."

"What does your father think of your leaving?"

The question caught Sam completely off guard. She turned to face Rachel, who had now sunk back into the corner of the couch. "My father?"

Rachel's eyes looked a bit surprised. "You haven't told him you left?" The tone was accusatory.

Again, the cloak and dagger game crept up into the conversation. Sam was having a hard time putting a finger on just how much Rachel knew. "No, I haven't had the chance."

"I understand he's off world, but you'd think they would have let him know at least."

"Rachel," Carter asked, "just how much do you know about the program?"

Dekker smiled again, only the deviousness was there without restraint. "Without actually being there, a lot more than you think. I make it my business to know. Otherwise, I couldn't outsmart the competition for the technology contracts."

"You have a spy inside the SGC?"

"Not at all, but I do make it a point to make sure I am in the reporting loop when it comes to events."

"Do I even want to know how you got into that loop?"

Rachel laughed quietly. "No, not really."

"And, it's probably better that I don't know, right?" Sam smiled, the irony of the situation becoming a bad joke.

"Right. So, what do you think?"

Sam sighed. "I think I need another drink."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Jack O'Neill, Colonel, United States Air Force, was in a surly mood. It wasn't for any particular reason, either. He just felt surly. He should have been pleased. Major Alan A. Douglas, United States Army, was fitting in just fine with SG1, despite their lack of interaction in the field. The man was as much a brain as Samantha Carter, SG1 Retired, had been. Douglas lacked some parts of Carter's charisma, of course. He was more serious, if that was possible, about the sciences revolving around the Stargate program. He rivaled Daniel Jackson in the bookworm department. There was no doubt about it – the Pentagon had assigned the best of the best in nerds to its coveted space travel program twice in a row.

Douglas was tall in stature, at least an inch above O'Neill. Pale skin was threatening an anemic definition by mere shifts in overhead lighting. He carried himself proudly, though, which O'Neill found comforting. He may have been a nerd, but he knew how the military worked, and he embraced the program from the moment he stepped through the briefing room door to introduce himself to his new commander.

O'Neill was even so inclined to forgive the fact that the Joint Chiefs of Staff had assigned Carter's replacement from the Army. Cross-service cooperation had been increasing in Stargate Command, but this was the first time there had been a mix and match version of a Stargate team. In the end, it mattered little what service was going through the gate. They all held the equal chance of encountering danger, and all understood there was a job to be done.

Life had returned to a seemingly normal pace. No Goa'ulds had threatened to destroy Earth, there were more diplomatic missions being run than ones where teams went in expecting to be shot at by the enemy, and it all came just when some in the SGC felt they were at the breaking point. It felt like a saving grace, coming down to restore the energy of those in the program.

_Too bad it wasn't just a little sooner_, Jack thought, referring to Carter's departure. She had packed up and transferred so quickly that there was no time to even give an official send-off. She seemed hellbent for election to get out of the SGC and away from the turmoil the gate brought. Dr. Janet Fraiser, Carter's good friend and Chief Medical Officer of the SGC, had even gone so far as to privately hint to him that Sam's behavior was reminiscent of post traumatic stress disorder. It was a great salve to O'Neill's conscience to think there was a label to explain Carter's departure. However, labels had never been his thing, and he was not ready to start pinning them on the best second-in-command the SGC had seen thus far.

The brightly lit and boxy corridors of the SGC's outer walkways were unusually empty for a Wednesday afternoon. All shifts had been ordered to remain at the mountain because of a heavy snowstorm that had hit the night before. The roads were a mess, and there was no use in even considering going home. More snow was on the way, which meant that everyone's stay at Cheyenne would be an extended one as was the policy when travel to and from the facility was made impossible by weather conditions.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a chorus of shouts from the recreation area. Generally, those not on duty flocked to the recreation area to pass the time. It was there that simple sparring exercises turned to grudge matches and games of logic became matters of pride for each specialty who won.

Normally, O'Neill would have joined them, watching and maybe even participating. His surly mood, however, precluded any enjoyment possibilities for him. He could not shake the emptiness and apprehension he felt that Carter was gone from SG1. He trusted her – they all did – with their lives. She was the one who deciphered the goofy alien technology that might get them all killed if they touched it. Jack was still uncertain that Douglas could fill those very large shoes with his abilities. Since everything had been settling down lately, there had not been any real opportunity to test him in any hot zones.

O'Neill found himself wandering up toward General George Hammond's office, as though on automatic pilot. He felt anxious, as though there was something he should be doing instead of walking corridor after corridor and drinking endless cups of coffee in the commissary. He came to the door of the office and knocked twice.

"Come," came he muffled reply from behind the door.

O'Neill opened the door and walked in with mustered energy, shoving his hands into his pockets after he had closed the door behind him.

"Jack, what can I do for you?" Hammond asked, his voice surprised as he reclined in his chair. He was clearly taken aback by O'Neill's unscheduled visit.

O'Neill eyed Hammond, inherently admiring the older man and two-star general who ran the SGC and the people in it. There was wisdom and even cunning in the eyes of his commander, eyes that had seen the tricks of the trade, both political and military.

Jack rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Just stopping in to say, 'hey', sir," he answered.

Hammond folded his hands across his waist. "You seem a little . . . restless, Colonel," he said, taking notice of O'Neill's fidgeting. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"No, sir," O'Neill answered swiftly. "I would just like to get my team back in the game so I can give Major Douglas a test run. We haven't had a chance to put him through the paces yet, and I'd like to know we can count on him before we get into any combat situations."

It was Hammond's turn to eye O'Neill, and he did so with quiet. Then he said, "Sit down, Jack."

O'Neill stepped forward and uneasily took the chair in front of Hammond's desk. He slouched back in it, realizing his feet were sore from walking the halls so long. He waited patiently for whatever Hammond had to say, getting the irritating feeling that a heavy-handed comment was coming. It was like being in the principal's office sometimes. Jack had to quickly remind himself that he had been the one to knock on Hammond's door.

"I don't need to tell you that SG1 is on stand down for at least three more days by order of Doctor Fraiser."

"Yeah, about that, sir," Jack began in protest before being cut off by Hammond.

"And a stand down means your team doesn't go through the gate."

"Yes, sir, I know, but . . . " he injected, his protest continuing before being cut off once more.

"And during a stand down, the idea is that you get some rest and relaxation before tackling a new assignment."

"Sir," O'Neill complained, "I'm going nuts sitting around here. We all are. Douglas is sweating bullets, Daniel's beginning to drink _way_ too much coffee, and Teal'c's starting to watch daytime soaps. If we don't get out of here soon, sir, we're all going to be doing the MacKenzie shuffle."

Hammond sat watching Jack's wound up reply with a buried grin somewhere on his lips. The problem was that it was hard to tell whether it was an amused grin or an irritated one. "I realize the shift in your team has caused you to have to reevaluate your team, Colonel."

"Shift, sir?" Jack felt a twinge of agitation.

Hammond paused, never taking his eyes off O'Neill. Then he said, "Fine, the fact that Major Carter is no longer with us," he corrected, his tone softening. "I know it hasn't been easy for SG1 to regroup after losing one of its core members."

Jack drummed his fingers against the arms of his chair. "No, sir, it hasn't," he said, probably a little more curtly than he should have.

"Jack, she has every right to leave the program. You're the one who told her it was okay to go."

"Yes, sir, I did," he answered, trying not to grind his teeth.

"You, of all people, know how traumatic experiences can change a person's outlook. Frankly, I'm surprised we haven't seen more of this with the program."

Jack lowered his head and picked at the cushioning on the arm of the chair. "Yes, sir."

There was no use in disagreeing with Hammond. The man was telling the truth, and Jack would have been a fool to argue. Carter had left with O'Neill's blessing. She had told him first, both as a friend and as a subordinate, looking to him for approval. She sought his permission to take a different path in her life, and he had granted it.

"Give Douglas a chance, Colonel. He just might surprise you."

Jack looked up once more. "He has no hair, sir. I mean, he does, but he cuts it all off – like, more than is really necessary. Doesn't that strike you as odd?" he asked, pointing at his own head for emphasis.

"That strikes me as being an Army purist."

"And he's tall. I don't like having to look up at people to talk to them, especially a subordinate."

"Yes, I know _exactly_ what you mean, Colonel."

"And how do we know if he can shoot straight and that he's not going to fold at the first sign of trouble?"

"He's a Ranger, and he's seen combat in the Gulf."

"Well, what about his brains? At least I was sure Carter would admit when she was stumped by something. What if Douglas won't admit it and gets us all blown to hell?"

"If that happens, I doubt you'll be around to worry about it, Colonel."

"What if . . . "

Hammond held up his hand to halt O'Neill's line of questioning. "Jack, as far as the Joint Chiefs and I are concerned, Douglas is here to stay. You'll put him through his training. If he doesn't mesh with your team, we'll replace him until we find someone who does. It's that simple."

O'Neill had no comeback, no return argument. Douglas could be replaced if he didn't work out with the team. Wasn't that the point of this trip to Hammond's office? Jack hesitated, then said, "Yes, sir."

"For now, you are on stand down for three more days. Read a book, clean weapons – I don't care. You're not going through the gate until Dr. Fraiser releases SG1 for duty. During that down time, I suggest you get to know Major Douglas a little better. Your team will benefit from it should you run into trouble."

"Yes, sir," he responded quietly. He stood up and shoved his hands back into his pockets. He turned for the door, then stopped and faced Hammond. "I'll bet his head gets really cold in this kind of weather."

Hammond looked at him, then pointed a commanding finger in the direction of the door. Jack took the cue and left Hammond's office without another word.

He made his way through the briefing room, down the stairs to the control room, and finally into the corridor once more. Taking a right, he decided to take Hammond's advice and get acquainted with Douglas. He silently wagered where he would find the man, and he hit the jackpot as he rounded the corner to Carter's old lab.

O'Neill stood in the doorway, observing an oblivious Douglas as he read over technology reports no doubt left for him by Carter. Like his predecessor, Douglas preferred a darkened room illuminated only by a desk lamp.

Jack leaned against the frame of the door, his hands still in his pockets. "Interesting reading?"

Douglas looked up suddenly from the report, startled at the sound of O'Neill's voice. "Colonel O'Neill, sir," he said, beginning to stand. "I didn't see you come in."

Jack stood straight and shook his head slightly. "Relax. I was just checking to see how the new digs are working out for you."

Douglas sat down again and smiled. He looked around the room. "It's like Disneyland for physicists in here, sir. " He focused on O'Neill again. "It's a little different than sifting through Major Carter's reports. Your perspective changes when you can actually see and touch the technology."

"I'll take your word for it," Jack said. He took the stool opposite Douglas. "So, any concerns or questions? I know you were assigned to my team without a lot of time to prepare."

"Well, sir, before I was assigned here, my main job was to conduct follow-up research on Major Carter's findings. So, for a while, I almost felt like an extension of your team . . . except for the jumping through wormholes part," he added with a careful grin.

O'Neill gave him a sharp look and wagged his finger at the piles of paper on the counter. "Do you actually understand all this stuff?"

Douglas shrugged and glanced down at the stacks. "I understand Major Carter's perspective on it, yes, sir. She's very methodical in her research, and she was very thorough in her notes."

"And what about you?"

"Sir?"

"Are you methodical and thorough?"

Douglas paused, as though running through a list of possible answers and deciding the merit of each one. "I try not to put my fingers in light sockets, if that's what you mean, sir," he answered, keeping his voice even and neutral. He clearly understood the gauntlet O'Neill had just cast.

O'Neill took a deep breath. He wasn't sure what answer he was looking for from Douglas. Maybe he had just heard the right one. All he wanted was to make sure they new guy wasn't going to get the experienced guys killed with stupidity and rash thinking.

Jack stood up and shoved his hands back into his pockets. "Daniel and Teal'c are meeting me in the commissary for dinner. Why don't you come with and get to know the rest of the team?"

Douglas grimaced. "If it's all the same to you, sir, I'd really like to read through as many of these reports as I can before my first mission."

"Methodical and thorough, right?"

Douglas smiled. "More like the light socket thing, sir."

O'Neill gave Douglas' reasoning a brief flash of contemplation. The answer satisfied him for the moment. "Suit yourself, but the offer is there. Meet us there if you change your mind."

"Thank you for the offer, sir," Douglas said with a nod and a pleasant smile.

After leaving Douglas to the reports in the lab, O'Neill made another quick check on the snow situation and to see if there was any remote chance of escaping the mountain by car. To his dismay, Mother Nature was letting Colorado have it with a vengeance. New storms, in fact, were brewing in the north. Forecasters were promising up to a foot more by dawn. Any progress he had made in the way of relaxing about Carter's replacement was negated by the news of more snow and of being trapped with the mountain. If he had to endure a forced R and R, then he would rather be doing it anywhere but in a military facility.

He felt a gnawing feeling about Douglas' refusal of the dinner invitation. Perhaps Jack had just not put enough emphasis on the offer made to SG1's newest member. Either Douglas felt very secure in turning down his commanding officer, or he was a near carbon copy of Carter and her dedication to studying as much as possible before embarking on a mission. O'Neill wasn't so sure the first explanation was so bad. At least it might mean that Douglas had a decent level of confidence. On the other hand, O'Neill weighed, it could be a bad sign that the major might be in a habit of turning down direct orders at crucial moments. There had never been that concern with Carter, for the most part. If she did refuse an order, it had been for a good reason.

None of these issues would have been buzzing around his head if Hammond would have just green lighted SG1 to return to duty. Hammond would have been more inclined to do so if Fraiser hadn't been so overly protective about the gate teams. Jack was all for the safety factor, but the good doctor seemed to think that extended time off was a good thing for a gate team. To Jack, it was unnerving to be sitting around the SGC waiting for something to do. There was a load of work to be done, none of which would happen until SG1 was cleared for duty.

Jack decided to go to the source of his agitation. Making his way back to the main corridor, he took a left and continued on until he found the infirmary. Upon entering, he saw a small bundle of activity centering around the first triage bed in the corner. He ducked inside the room, vacating his doorway position to avoid being slammed into by an x-ray machine.

Across the room on a gurney lay a man in shorts and a tank top. A swollen cut above his left eye had obviously landed him there, where medical personnel were eager for some action. It was no surprise to find Janet Fraiser in the middle of the throng, gloves on, prodding the wound.

Another man Jack hadn't noticed at first emerged from the shadows near the corner of the bed. "Jimmy, I'm _really_ sorry," the second man said, his apology in earnest.

"Nah, it was a good kick. I should have gotten my big head out of the way," the first man argued.

Jack took a sitting position two gurneys down, listening to the apology-counterapology being exchanged. After a moment, Fraiser glanced up, an annoyed expression on her face. She looked directly at Jack, then stepped away from her patient, giving treatment orders as she did so. She moved toward Jack, stripping off her gloves and tossing them into a nearby pail.

"Colonel? Is everything all right?" she asked, a seasoned look of concern in her eyes. It was not Jack's habit to be in the infirmary of his own will, she knew.

"Fine," Jack answered shortly and with agitation.

Fraiser's hands slipped into the pockets of her lab coat.

"Ah!" Jack exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. "Don't do that."

The doctor was startled. "Don't do what?"

"You were reaching for that penlight thing."

Fraiser looked confused. "Is there a reason I should?" she asked, clearly taken aback by Jack's behavior.

"No," he answered in a voice that bordered on a whine. "In fact, I'm feeling pretty invincible right now. Fit as a fiddle. Healthy as a horse," he added for good measure.

Janet stood perplexed. "I'm glad to hear that, sir," she said slowly. "So, what brings you to the infirmary?" Her hands continued to fish around her pockets until one seemed to take hold of something.

"You," he said pointedly, almost childlike.

"I'm afraid I don't follow, Colonel."

"This three day rest thing. We're all ready to go. Daniel's ready. I'm ready. Teal'c's ready," he continued. "We're all ready to go," he declared, setting his hands out before him.

"I see," she said, squaring her shoulders to him. "Unfortunately, I'm not ready to release you to return to duty yet."

"Why the hell not?" he shouted, barely below a yell. Across the room, heads turned at the outburst. He returned the look until they went back to their own work.

Fraiser remained calm. She waited for O'Neill to get an emotional grip, then said, "Colonel, it's my job to make sure the teams going through the gate are healthy. Up until a week ago, you and Daniel were my patients, still under my active care."

"And you did a _great_ job, seriously," he said quickly, trying to bait her with an impatient charm.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "However, flattery will get you nowhere. The day after tomorrow, we'll be running a final set of tests to be sure everything's in order. If all checks out, you'll be on your way the next day."

He sat on the gurney, staring at her, then folded his hands on his lap. He looked at the right pocket of her lab coat that bulged now with the shape of her fist. "You're itching to use that thing, aren't you?"

A tight smile formed on her lips, her eyes squinting as if to contain her urge. "It's taking every bit of self-control I have, yes, sir."

Jack opened his mouth to respond, then thought better of it. There was no reason to give Fraiser any more ammunition to delay the return to duty. He peered at her for a moment, the thought of responding rising up once more. He pushed it down and hopped off the gurney. "I'm going to go now. Books to read, weapons to clean, dust to watch settle. Exciting stuff."

He turned for the door, stopping when he reached it. He gave a shouldered glance back at Fraiser. "You'll call if you change your mind, right?"

She gave a patronizing smile. "You'll be the first to know, sir."

A brief scowl turned into a pout, then a sigh. Jack exited the infirmary into the bowels of the SGC. If they couldn't go on a mission, at least he and Teal'c could watch their stories.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Rachel had been sadly accurate in her description of delays at Denver International Airport. The snowstorm seemed to slow everything down to a crawl, including the incoming and outgoing flights. Finally, though, Sam and Rachel boarded a private jet bound for Orange County in California.

"So," Rachel said after they had reached cruising altitude, "you never did tell me why you left. Last time we talked, you sounded like a kid on Christmas about the whole project."

A male flight attendant, one that looked like he had been ripped directly from the pages of a fashion magazine, emerged from the galley with a tray of coffee and sandwiches. Sam didn't bother to contain the amused look on her face at the tall, dark and handsome placing the servings on their table. He smiled at her with dark, sultry eyes. A waft of his cologne drifted over, pleasant and erotic.

When he had finished placing the coffee and sandwiches and had disappeared back behind the galley door, Sam said, "Wow."

Rachel smiled broadly, appearing that the entertainment value of one of her employees had not escaped her friend. "One of the perks of being the boss. He's dumber than a box of rocks, but he certainly is easy on the eyes. And he has excellent taste in cologne. Next time he walks by, drop your fork for the second act."

Sam suppressed the urge to giggle out loud. Rachel had never made it a point to hide her libido, but she always practiced restraint in acting upon it. Ronin had, of course, been an exception to that rule. From the moment they had begun working on the nanite project together, Sam knew Rachel was knocked off balance by his charm and intelligence. With him, Rachel had been completely focused, the habitual window shopping for men over lunch ceasing almost immediately. Ronin had taken control of her heart, and she his. Theirs was a fairy tale come true in a classified government lab.

Sam took Rachel's choice in flight attendants as a sign that she had begun to recover from Ronin's death, although the rings on her finger were still there. It would just take time, Sam decided.

All was quiet except for the hum of the Lear's engines.

"So?" Rachel asked, breaking the silence.

"So what?" Sam answered, her reverie broken.

"So, why leave the job of a lifetime to teach a bunch of greens at Colorado Springs?"

Sam shrugged, dismissing any significance to the career change. "It was just time to move on."

"C'mon, Carter, save the bullshit for someone else. I read the reports, remember? You went from living and breathing the program to walking out the door in less than two weeks. What's up with that?"

Sam felt a pang of annoyance growing inside at the interrogation. "Is this a part of the job interview?"

Rachel smiled slightly, well aware that she was pushing Carter's limits of cooperation. "You might say that. Bottom line is that I have to know if you're capable of going back to the SGC to test the new project. I can't afford to lose development time with someone who's going to put in for a Section Eight at the first sight of trouble. I need to know if there is anything that's going to stand in the way of the testing phase for the new design. That includes the people on the project, not just the machinery or the politics."

"So, this is more a matter of money than personal interest?"

"Would your answer change if it were?" Rachel asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Sam looked at Rachel. "It might. Depends on what you want to know."

Rachel put down her cup. She sat there, sizing up the opposition. "Okay," she said after a moment, "I'll be perfectly honest. I was at a real crossroads with you. I already told you I read all the reports. So, I know you left there a little freaked at the last two missions you were on. On the other hand, my project needs someone like you in the worst way. I need someone who's been through, who has experience in survey and knows the ins and outs of the machinery. That, without a doubt, is you."

"Except?" Sam answered, seeing the proverbial shoe dangling high above, waiting to drop.

Rachel's eyes were sharp and clear. "Except I need to be sure you're the right one to send back to the program for the walk-through tests. I need to be sure there won't be any personal conflicts. I think it's only fair that I ask you in advance and that you give me an answer."

An image of Wheeler's face flashed in Sam's mind, followed quickly by the distant view of Antalus being killed. Young man and old man had died at the hands of the same enemy, the same foe the SGC had faced over the years and had yet to conquer. They had won battles, but they were not any closer to winning the war than they had been when the SGC was conceived, it seemed. Sam had been there for most of the operations through the gate. She had been a part of the elite first contact team, SG1 for six years. She had nearly given her life for the cause, believing it was right and just. She had learned more in that time about the universe and that its rules were not always constant. The give and take of knowledge had turned out to be a gift by percentage. However, the personal loss seemed to overshadow anything material or intellectual that she had received.

Could she step through the gate again? She was positive she could make her feet move in the direction of the event horizon and successfully step through it because it would be her job to do just that. What she questioned was the return of the images and nightmares that had caused her to leave in the first place. She would face an assured return of emotions and memories that she had managed to place on hold for the last month and a half. Never mind the fact that she would probably run into her old teammates, dredging up perhaps some resentment over her departure.

It would be incredibly odd walking back into Cheyenne. She had no intention of explaining her reasons for leaving to everyone. Rachel had asked about personal conflicts. There were going to be plenty of those, but they were demons Sam would conquer quietly in her own mind, on her own time, in her own way. They were not for public consumption, even by those who had been her closest friends and comrades. Not even Janet Fraiser would be privy to the difficulties Sam had been grappling with over the last month.

"It's a fair question," Sam agreed, though she was on alert mentally with the answer. "But it's not something you need to worry about. I feel I left on good terms with the SGC."

"That's not what I asked," Rachel said calmly and directly.

Sam's defenses rose and anger surfaced. "I'm not going to go through a play by play of things, if that's what you're after." Thoughts flitted through her mind, conjuring up the angles of attack Rachel might take to get detailed information. "If you didn't trust me, you wouldn't have gone through this much trouble to get me to California. That means you've already decided I'm the person for the job."

Rachel sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. She said nothing for a while, as though considering her options. Her face softened, her eyes returning to the familiar friendly form Sam had remembered. "Eventually, it's going to eat you alive if you don't confront it."

"What the hell do you want me to say, Rachel?" Sam said with anger, releasing the hold on her restraint. "I left a man to die. Is that what you want to hear? Or how about that I watched an old man have his head bashed until it crushed his skull? Is that better? Or maybe I should review all the other fascinating experiences I've had while I was there?"

Rachel sat impassively, letting Carter's rant pass without argument. Then she said, "It took a long time for me to talk about Ronin, and even now I find it difficult. No one tried to help me because I got so damned angry every time the accident was mentioned. No one asked me how pissed I was that he was gone or how much I cried when no one was looking. You can't explain the anguish and the ache to anyone. So they leave you the hell alone and let you go on your way, thanking their lucky little stars that they didn't have to listen to how much things hurt. They can't see the nightmares, they don't understand what it feels like when the smallest thing reminds you of something you hate."

"The only thing I hate is what 'they' are and what they do to good people," Sam answered adamantly. "I hate a lot of the things I've seen and knowing I had to go back for more each time I went because it was my job. If building a new design will help, then count me in. But don't count me out because you don't think I have my head screwed on straight. The only thing you need to worry about is giving me the resources to get the job done."

Rachel looked bemused. She leaned forward and rested her elbows near the edge of the table. Her hands formed a steeple as she pressed her fingers to her lips in contemplation. When she lowered them to speak, she said, "So, you're saying this is not a problem?"

Rachel's eyes were piercing, reaching all the way to Sam's fears and memories. Dekker sought the truth, and the truth was probably not what she wanted to hear, Sam gambled. "I'm saying that this is not a problem. There's a job to be done, and it will get done to the best of my abilities."

Dekker smiled gently, then nodded. "Okay," she said. "But I want you to understand that I'll pull you out so fast it'll make your head spin if I think for one second you're going to lose it."

Sam's back stiffened at the statement that was sounding more and more like an accusation.

Rachel took notice. "It won't be because you're not good enough, Sam. It's that I'm in the business of pushing the envelope of technology, not human emotion. I'm certainly not in the business of driving friends over the edge in the name of money."

"Can I ask you some questions, then?"

Rachel sat back. "Sure. Fire away."

It was time to see if the door swung both ways in the emotion department. "What happened in the accident?"

"You mean with Ronin?"

"Yeah. The way you were talking last night, there has to be more to it."

Rachel gave a slight shrug. "We were working late, like I told you, seven blocks from home when the guy went left of center and slammed into our car." She paused, and Sam could see the memories flood back as Rachel's eyes drifted off course. "The impact pushed the engine block into his lap. I was knocked unconscious for a few minutes. When I woke up, I looked at him and knew he was gone."

"What about you?" Sam asked softly.

"The dash crushed my left leg, and I was pinned up against him. I remember I couldn't get my seatbelt off because the release was jammed. My arm was caught below me, and I felt trapped." Rachel's eyes closed. "It took them almost an hour to cut me out of the car. All that time, I felt Ronin's body getting cold." Her eyes opened again. "The pain was nothing compared to that. I mean, I knew he was dead. It's that feeling of growing cold that I can't forget."

"And the Air Force?"

Rachel gave a snort. "The Air Force did what it could, including a lot of reconstruction on my leg. In the end, though, there was no going back. I still walk with a limp, in case you haven't noticed."

"Actually, I did," Sam acknowledged sheepishly.

Rachel smiled. "Then at least you're observant. Most don't see it."

"You hide it well enough."

"Stops the pity parties at the company, if you know what I mean."

Sam's ire began to wane. Guilt washed over her of her outburst. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Nah," Rachel answered quickly, dismissing the apology. "I pushed you hard. It's not always easy being on the receiving end of that."

"You do that to all your potential employees?"

"Nope," she answered, "just the ones who can make me the most money in the shortest amount of time." She smiled mischievously and batted her eyelashes.

Sam smiled, and this time it was genuine, knowing that her friend asked the hard questions out of care and not greed. "Yeah," she acknowledged, knowing the battle was over for the moment. She was practically in the employ of Rachel Dekker, thirty thousand feet in the sky. It was back to business as usual.

The door to the galley swung open once more. Rachel sorted through the utensils on the table and held a one securely in her hand. "Okay, here he comes. Get your fork ready."

Sam smiled. Things were definitely business as usual.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Jack had graduated from surly to utterly bored. Dinner with Daniel and Teal'c had devolved into a discussion on the finer points of cultural television viewing.

"Okay," Jack sighed, "let's go over it one more time."

Teal'c straightened and prepared his answer. "Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck are friends despite each other's attempts to inflict great harm by means of explosives and weapons."

"Correct," Jack confirmed. "It's that simple."

Teal'c frowned. "The two facts would seem to contradict one another, O'Neill. How is that entertaining? I consider you my friend, yet I do not wish to inflict harm on you as a means of personal enjoyment."

Daniel smiled. Teal'c had made a good point, but it was apparent Jack was having trouble getting the idea of cartoon entertainment across to the Jaffa. "Teal'c, it's like you and Jack boxing. You enjoy it as a sport; but to win, you have to punch Jack out, right?"

O'Neill shot a glance at Daniel. "Which he's never done," Jack said pointedly.

"Yet," Daniel retorted. He then went back to Teal'c. "So, in our culture, there are instances where we find it funny when cartoon characters use explosives to beat the bad guy."

"Deputy Dawg," Jack noted quickly.

"Don't complicate this, Jack," Daniel admonished with annoyance.

The frown on Teal'c's face deepened in further contemplation. "This may require further investigation."

Without another word, Teal'c stood from his seat and gave a slight bow in departure. Jack watched as the large man left the commissary. Daniel appeared confused.

"Since when did he start watching cartoons?"

Jack shrugged. "Since the soaps end at three and Bugs comes on Channel 27."

"And you had nothing to do with that?"

O'Neill struggled to answer without indicting himself. "I thought it would be a change of pace for him from All My Kids."

"He's watching soaps, too?" Daniel asked with incredulity.

"Hey, it beats the news networks," Jack said defensively.

Jack leaned forward and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. "I am so bored," he droned.

"Yeah," Daniel admitted. "It sure is quiet around here."

Looking to continue the conversation, Daniel said, "I talked to Sam yesterday."

Jack showed practically no emotion at all, yet inside he felt a stab of excitement at any news of Carter's life after the SGC. "Really? What's she up to these days?"

Daniel fiddled with his coffee mug, concentrating his fingers on the curve of the handle. "She took a temporary assignment out in California. Something to do with a new MALP design. Said she might even come back here to do some test runs through the gate."

O'Neill nodded. "That's terrific," he said quietly. "I'm glad it's working out for her."

Daniel hesitated, a silence forming, then said, "You would have known that if you'd just call her once in a while."

A surge of emotions swept through Jack. He tried to reel in the one that was the most diplomatic and decided on the sadness one. The anger he let abide, his mind reeling back to his earlier conversation with Hammond. "I don't think that would be such a good idea. I'm not going to make her feel guilty for leaving."

The archaeologist looked up at him. "Yeah, but maybe she needs to talk to you, Jack. I mean, she left because things got really rough for her. Everyone just let her go without a fight."

"It wasn't like we could force her to stay. She had a right to leave," he said as Hammond's words echoed in his mind.

"And it doesn't bother you how quickly that happened or how things have changed around here?"

"Daniel," Jack said with frustration, "this is the military. People come and go a lot. It's not like a dig where you stick around for years at a time until you find the rock you're looking for."

"So we just accept some paperwork and let the chips fall where they may?"

"If that's the way it all makes sense, then so be it."

"Jack, I'm not blaming you for Sam leaving," Daniel said, trying to ward off any hostility. "I know she chose to do that, but I just can't help feeling like we should have done more to be her friends. We owe her that much."

Jackson and O'Neill were paged over the base system to report to the briefing room. Daniel sat back, looking defeated at not having gotten his point across to O'Neill. Jack stood immediately, savoring the respite the page brought. It meant he would not have to pursue the topic any further with Daniel. The page meant business, and any business at that point was a good thing. The timing could not have been more perfect on a number of levels. Presently, it allowed an escape from the heavy conversation that was developing with Daniel.

The two traveled through the corridors, Daniel making small talk in lieu of continuing the conversation in the commissary. They took an elevator and made a series of turns until they were at the briefing room. Major General George Hammond, commanding officer of Stargate Command was seated at the head of the conference table. The Pentagon's liaison officer to the SGC, Major Davis, flanked him on the left, followed by Teal'c. Davis stood at attention when O'Neill approached, and the two exchanged a courteous nod.

"Davis, long time, no see," Jack said warmly.

"We've been busy at the Big House, sir. It's always a pleasure to make it back here, though," he said, sitting back down in his chair.

Jack took a seat on Hammond's right, and Daniel followed suit to Jack's left. "So, what's up?"

Hammond pushed manila folders toward Jack and Daniel. "Clearance issues, Colonel. As you may know, Major Carter has taken a temporary assignment to assist in a new MALP design. In order to complete the final testing stages, the MALP will need to go through the gate for structural integrity tests. Major Carter will be assigned to oversee that portion of the project."

"And what – the Pentagon is afraid she's forgotten her way around the SGC?"

Davis sighed. "Quite the contrary, sir. The fact is, Major Carter knows her way _too_ well around the facility to be unescorted. She's assisting a civilian contractor who is overseeing the construction of the MALP and other equipment. The Pentagon is concerned that there's the potential for a security breech."

"Oh, c'mon," Jack argued, "we're talking about Carter here." He turned to Hammond. "Sir, this is nuts. There's no way Carter would compromise the SGC."

Hammond nodded and raised his hand slightly to tell Jack to relax. "Colonel, I don't honestly think that Major Carter is the issue here. It's her new boss that has the Pentagon's attention."

O'Neill looked down at the folder in front of him. Inside was the file for one Rachel Dekker, former Air Force officer and research team leader. Jack studied the picture a moment, noticing the distinct eyes and face that were sharp and intense. "Wow," he said.

"'Wow' is right, sir," Davis confirmed. "Rachel Dekker is tops in her field and then some. She's ex-Air Force and she's basically built a defense industry empire off the SGC. She's the reason the Pentagon is taking notice."

Daniel slid the picture out of his folder and held it up for a closer look. "So, what does all this have to do with Sam?"

Hammond opened another folder. "Major Carter and Doctor Dekker were assigned to the same research team at the Pentagon before the major joined the Stargate program, so they've known one another for quite a while. Doctor Dekker made several attempts to inquire about Major Carter's status here at the SGC, specifically after significant incidents."

Jack was intrigued. "Significant incidents? Can we be a little more, erm, specific, sir?"

Davis pushed what appeared to be a simple log sheet over to O'Neill. "These are dates of inquiry about Major Carter that were sent through various channels at the Pentagon. The inquiries pertained to medical status, psychological reviews and security clearances. All the inquiries coincide with reports filed concerning activities that directly impacted Major Carter's status at the SGC."

"Like?" Jack had a decent idea of where Davis was going with the explanation. It was hard to imagine the activities being benign ones. Things that concerned Carter had been generally significant and life-altering.

Hammond sat back in his chair. "Her experience with Jolinar was the first incident that received such an inquiry. Her father's capture, the fact that she was forced to kill Martouf – there are a dozen more events just like those that coincide with a request for status on Major Carter. The two most recent events were triggered by reports filed for the missions to P3X-324 and Beman."

Daniel looked concerned. "Why would someone keep tabs on Sam's bad days?"

"That's what the Pentagon and I would like to know, Doctor," Hammond answered.

Daniel looked through the report in front of him, skimming over Rachel Dekker's profile. "And we think Doctor Dekker is doing this for reason less than honest?"

Davis nodded. "We're pretty sure it has something to do with bringing Major Carter onto Prime Power's payroll."

"Prime Power?" Jack asked.

"That's Dekker's company and the same one that builds the MALPS. Prime is practically the sole contractor for the research equipment we use," Davis explained. "Because the Stargate program technically doesn't exist, the list of defense contractors used for equipment development is a very short one. Prime is at the top of the list with virtually no competition."

Daniel grimaced. "Gives a whole new meaning to 'all your eggs in one basket', doesn't it?"

"Unfortunately," Davis said, "that's the way it has to be. Mathematically speaking, whoever can develop the most stuff with the least amount of money in the shortest amount of time will win the contract. Prime blew the competition away hands down."

Jack continued to leaf through Dekker's profile. "So, how does Prime manage to get such a leg up on the other guys?"

"They're in-house everything," Davis continued. "Software, sims, equipment, manufacturing – Prime does it all. For a long time, we've suspected that Dekker had friends in high places who gave her a head's up on upcoming projects, but we could never pinpoint the sources. Right now, we're closer to finding that answer now that Major Carter has become involved."

It took a moment for the implication to dawn on Jack. When it finally hit home, he found the idea ludicrous. "Wait a minute – you want Carter to spy for you?"

Hammond closed the folder in front of him. "Jack, the security of this program and this base is the number one priority of the Pentagon. Rachel Dekker is potentially compromising that by networking information. The Pentagon feels, and I agree with them, that we should use any and every resource we have to ensure the integrity of the SGC."

O'Neill struggled to maintain his control. "Sir, with all due respect, using Carter as a mule a little over the top."

Teal'c stirred, looking contemplative. "I believe General Hammond may be right, O'Neill. Major Carter is trustworthy and may be a valuable asset to the investigation."

Jack shook his head in frustration, although he knew Teal'c was right.

"It's an unfortunate but necessary step, Colonel," Hammond countered. "Up to this point, this investigation hasn't had this good an opportunity to shore up the leaks surrounding the program."

"I understand that, sir, but I don't like it. It's using Carter."

Davis shrugged slightly. "That's pretty much the idea, Colonel. The Pentagon feels that Major Carter is solid, and we think she'll be willing to cooperate with us to plug these leaks before they can do serious damage to national security."

Daniel removed his glasses and set them gently on the table. "Yeah, but have you taken into consideration her relationship to Rachel Dekker? I mean, what if you were asked to spy on your friend? How objective could you be?"

Davis gave a sardonic smile. "We're aware that her friendship with Doctor Dekker is a wild card. We have no idea how that will play into this. However, my bosses seem to think it's an acceptable risk. Personally, sirs, I'm very confident that Major Carter will help us out here."

Jack could easily see the point of view of the Pentagon, but he also felt protective of his former 2IC. If Dekker was such a liability, why not shut her out of the picture completely and save the hassle of information leaks? O'Neill felt a pang of apprehension worming its way around his head. His instincts told him there was more to the story, though he doubted Davis would answer any questions with a straightforward approach. He decided to press the issue anyway.

"Why don't you guys just stop doing business with Prime and Dekker and everyone there?" Jack asked. "What's Dekker got that has you guys willing to play the cloak and dagger games?"

Davis adjusted his position in his chair. "Frankly, sir, it's not what we know. It's what we don't know that has us concerned. Security at Prime makes the SGC look like a walkthrough. We haven't been able to get anyone on the inside to find out what's been going on. Dekker picks her people personally, and only after extensive screening. In the research world, you don't apply to work at Prime. It comes looking for you."

"So, it's entirely possible that you'd be asking Carter to stick her neck out for something that isn't there, correct?" Jack tested.

"It's a possibility, yes, sir," Davis admitted. "However, we have enough substantiating evidence to believe that there's probably a lot more on the inside that could damage the program and make it public knowledge."

Daniel poked at the arm of his glasses in contemplation. "Like a giant cashflow to investors?"

"Or the lack of one, yes," Davis confirmed. "There's also the potential for technology to be prematurely released into industry. I don't think I have to list the other items that could be hazardous."

Hammond furrowed his brow. "Major, who else knows about Major Carter's affiliation to Dekker and Prime?"

"All the first stringers, sir. NID, NIS, CIA, NSA. If it has three letters, you can bet they're aware."

Davis looked at O'Neill, who was stretching his neck over the back of the chair. "Colonel, the Pentagon isn't asking you to lie, cheat or steal."

O'Neill sat up straight again. "Well, that's so comforting. Then what exactly do they want?"

"To put it simply, sir, don't stand in our way. Help us convince Major Carter of the importance of her role in this investigation."

Daniel grunted. "And friendships be damned?"

"If that's what it takes, Doctor Jackson," Davis replied. "I know that's not the answer you want to hear, but that's the platform we're operating on at the moment. The Pentagon feels that this situation is that critical."

Hammond paused a moment. The tension in the room was thick, hanging there like a fog. Then said calmly, "Gentlemen, I can't order you to cooperate in the investigation. However, nothing I have read or been told indicates that this is a witch hunt. The Pentagon's investigation into Prime Power is warranted, and I'm asking you to do what you can to see it through."

O'Neill glanced at Davis. "I don't suppose I have any time to think this over?"

The major's demeanor could not have been more sympathetic. "Unfortunately, no, sir. The clock is ticking with Major Carter already in California. They'll be arranging to come to the SGC for the tests within two weeks. We need to have at least our foot in the door by then."

Jack rubbed at his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, pinching the bridge of his nose in agitation. Davis and Hammond had left him with little choice. His mind played through the various angles of participating in the investigation. The conclusion was simple – the SGC had to remain secure from both public knowledge and from outside attacks. Davis was right, and O'Neill knew it. There were no other viable options but to be a part of the vanguard against Prime Power, if it was necessary at all. If Carter were to become a casualty of that defense without him being on board, then her fate would be out of his hands.

He looked at Daniel, who seemed less than eager to jump into the fray. He appeared to be deferring to Jack's better judgment. The act was neither comforting nor eliciting a feeling of confidence. The only comforting notion Jack could muster was that he, Daniel and Teal'c would be on the inside track of the investigation. If it were at all possible, they would be able to protect Carter from the political and military dogs pushing the paper that kept the SGC running.

Jack nodded solemnly. "Tell me what to do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sam looked up at the decrepit building, a throwback to the war production days. It was a sharp contrast to the Lear and the limousine that brought them to the factory. The windows were opaque with green paint, preventing anyone from seeing the operations inside the building. She could not help the feeling of disappointment she felt that the facility was not something supremely modern. Overall, the building looked a brick short of stable and in serious need of demolition.

Rachel finished giving final instructions to the driver that had brought them there and stepped up beside Carter. "It looks like hell from the outside, I'll admit," she said, perceptive of Sam's reaction to the facility. "But I guarantee that what goes on inside will blow your mind."

"I'm sure it will," Sam said apologetically, "but it just seems, well, out of style for you."

"Yeah, it is," Rachel said, walking toward the entrance. "The fact that it looks like a rat hole keeps the attention off our work here. The flashier administration building with the shiny windows is in Van Nuys. You have an office there, by the way," she added.

They approached the heavy aluminum doors. One opened automatically, allowing them into the foyer of the factory. A large glass wall prevented them from venturing further down the walkway. It was the first checkpoint of the facility. Two hulking men in black assault gear stepped from the station behind the glass.

"Good morning, Doctor Dekker," the first guard said. His voice was deep and professional.

"Harmon," Dekker acknowledged with a smile. She tipped her head in Carter's direction. "This is Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. Is her clearance set in our systems?"

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. "We just need a palm scan to activate her account."

With an invitation from Harmon, Sam stepped forward and placed her hand on the palm scanner platform. A bar of light passed underneath, inventorying every ridge in the skin, presumably to create an identification profile.

Harmon watched the screen next to the scanner and smiled when it indicated that the process had been completed. "You're all set, Major. If you'll just step over here and empty your pockets, we'll get you on your way."

Sam looked nervously to Rachel for explanation.

"It's okay," Rachel assured. "Just the standard metal detector routine. Everyone goes through it every time they enter the labs. Even I have to be checked."

Carter nodded in understanding, though she still felt a bit disconcerted at being searched. Everything was happening so fast, and there had been so little time to adjust to the changes. She supposed the security at Prime Power would have to be as good, if not better, than the security at the SGC. This was no military facility. Unlike the SGC, there was no military presence to act as a buffer to unwanted visitors. Prime Power fell under civilian property rules. As such, the methods of security would differ from that of a military installation.

Carter removed her jacket and placed it on the counter. Harmon picked it up and handed it to the other guard who had not yet uttered one word. She stepped through the metal detector archway and stiffened, waiting for an alarm to be tripped even though she was sure there was nothing that would cause that to happen.

When no alarm sounded, she allowed herself to relax. The second guard continued to search her jacket. Harmon directed Dekker to step through. Instantly, the alarm sounded, startling Sam.

"Business as usual, Harm," Dekker said with a smile. Harmon picked up a hand scanner and passed it over Rachel.

The wand was silent until it passed over Rachel's left leg. A high-pitched groan rang out, indicating the presence of metal. Harmon continued his scan and returned to her left leg to confirm the location of the hit.

"You're all clear, Doctor Dekker. Have a good day."

The second guard, who still had not spoken a word, politely returned Carter's jacket to her and nodded an approval that it had passed his inspection.

Rachel took the lead and headed for the elevator at the end of the hall beyond the checkpoint. The checkpoint had Carter's curiosity vexed. "What's up with the wand back there?"

"Titanium reconstruction in my leg," Rachel answered succinctly. "I set the damned thing off every time I walk through it. Now you know why I hate public airports."

"Yeah, I can imagine," Sam sympathized.

They approached the elevator where Rachel invited Sam to activate the palm scanner. When she did, the doors slid open and they went inside.

"Nearly everything that can be automated in the facility is voice-activated," Rachel explained. "Lights, elevators, most information terminals and some of the simulators can be controlled by voice commands. Just preface the request with 'Archie', then give the parameters. I'll let you run the elevator to give you an idea."

"'Archie'?" Sam inquired, amused by the name.

"I named the control system that. And before you even ask," Rachel continued, "it doesn't stand for anything. It's just named Archie because it sounded cute."

Sam grinned in admission that she was about to ask if Archie was an acronym. "I was wondering."

"So," Rachel said happily, "give Archie a whirl and take us to the tenth floor."

Sam took a deep breath, the excitement of the adventure into the coveted research facility of Prime Power surfacing once more. "Archie," she said with determination, "tenth floor."

Archie gave two quiet beeps. Then the elevator gave a barely perceptible lurch and began its descent to the tenth floor. A digital display on the wall charted the progress.

"This facility, which we affectionately refer to as the Malt Shop, has thirteen floors."

"Thirteen? That's tempting fate, isn't it?"

Rachel smirked. "Fate and I have a serious grudge match going right now. So far, I'm ten and one."

Sam was glad that even Ronin's death had not put a cap on Rachel's zeal for technical humor. Rachel had been known at the Pentagon for her streak of wit when it came to research projects. A project name always had meaning, and it was usually an affectionate one. Sam made a mental note to find out the significance of Archie as a name.

The progress to the tenth floor was swift. Sam felt a pang of impatience building, waiting for the doors to open, when Rachel called out, "Archie, stop." The doors stayed shut.

She stepped back and leaned against the back wall of the car and folded her arms. She waited a moment, looking at Sam intently.

"The fruits of my entire life are on the other side of these doors. Ronin would have been a part of it, but he can't be now." She seemed to struggle. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad I have the next best friend I have ever had on board."

Sam wanted nothing more than to be able to say she felt the warmth of Rachel's statement, but instead she felt a nagging uncertainty about what lay ahead. She had literally told the Air Force to take a powder while she explored a new avenue in life. That, she knew, had been a privilege based on her past performance. The military was cutting her a break, giving her special treatment in order to find out if there was more she could give them by breaking into the private sector.

Still, Rachel's offer was rich and suspicious all at the same time. It was too good to be true. Sam's desire for it to be legitimate was wishful thinking. Rachel was methodical and deliberate in everything she did. There was no other choice but to be that way if Prime Power was to maintain its level of dominance in the industrial world. It was a ruthless business at best. It had all the tactics of a black op in the military. As long as the Pentagon felt it benefited from such acts, it was willing to look the other way and let Prime Power and dozens of companies like it proliferate and monopolize the market of technology.

Underneath it all, though, Sam could see sincerity with Rachel. Rachel was undeniably enthusiastic about technology and what it meant for the future. She always had a working vision of the way things could be instead of regretting the present circumstances. Perhaps that was what had allowed her to rise above the loss of Ronin. She had taken the reins of one of the most powerful companies in the world and had elevated it to deity status among defense contractors.

Sam would never even try to deny her own excitement over becoming a part of an empire. While it had been an emotional circus for her when she left the SGC and its universal opportunities, Prime Power seemed to be like a new world all its own. Rachel Dekker's standards indicated that much. That is what made Carter's induction into Prime's working community such a milestone.

Rachel smiled and stepped to the control panel. With the push of a button, the doors opened. What Sam saw on the other side was anticlimactic, if anything. The tenth floor was entirely different from the near shambled look of the building on the surface. However, instead of walking into the heart of Prime's research area, they stepped into the hall toward yet another security checkpoint. Stainless steel walls and blue lighting gave it a strange yet sophisticated glow.

Another guard sat behind a gleaming steel desk. He stood when they neared, remaining mostly impassive except to inspect Carter's face, seeing a stranger in a place that relied on familiarity to maintain the integrity of its security.

"Mitchell, this is Major Samantha Carter," Rachel said by way of introduction. "The tenth will be her primary work floor for the next month. She's been cleared up top by Harmon."

Mitchell's eyes were intense as he studied Carter for another moment. Then he said, "Welcome to the tenth floor, Major. If you have any questions regarding the security protocols on the floor, please let me know."

He reached under the overhang of the desk and entered a series of keystrokes into the computer. After a moment, he reached down further and took hold of an identification card. After security it to a lanyard emblazoned with Prime's logo, he handed it to Carter.

"There is your identification for the plant," he said. "With this card, you'll have access to every area."

She accepted the card and examined it. Her picture was on it, both in profile and facing forward. "When did I pose for this?" she asked Rachel.

"You didn't," Rachel answered with pride. "As you passed through the detector upstairs, our systems visually scanned your physiology and created a precision visual representation of your facial features."

"This isn't a photo?" Carter asked in amazement.

"Nope, that's what Archie does with a box of virtual crayons. Not bad for a three-year-old, if you ask me."

Carter slipped the lanyard over her head and made sure the picture was visible.

"Keep that ID with you at all times, Major Carter," Mitchell admonished. "Without it, you may be detained until your authorization can be verified."

"Right," Carter said, struggling to take everything in stride.

A broad smile formed on Rachel's lips. "You ready, Sam?"

"If Mitchell says I am, then I guess so."

Mitchell gave a nod, indicating there would be nothing more required of her.

Rachel held out her hand, inviting Sam to take the lead toward the gleaming steel door a few steps away. To the right was a palm scanner. With Rachel's approval, Sam placed her hand on it. A small black screen above it lit up with a digital image identical to the one on Carter's badge. It flashed a confirmation.

The doors opened, revealing a large lab with high ceilings. The same blue hues in the hall were present here except to the far right where a clean room had been installed. White florescent lights eliminated all shadows there, where it was crucial to see every detail.

Straight ahead and to the left were various work stations and testing units. Yellow retractable coils of power lines hung down from the ceiling, keeping the floor clear of obstructions. Sam counted six workers in the lab that she could see. A few looked up only momentarily, then returned their attention to their work. Either the place was unfriendly or the workers were nervous that Prime Power's CEO was among them. Sam decided the latter was the more obvious explanation. It would be hell to work with unfriendly people if the first option were true.

Rachel led Sam deeper into the lab, and that was when Sam saw the new MALP. It sat in another room that had been turned into a terrain test environment. Rachel stopped at the windows of the terrain room, admiring the product sitting inside.

"There it is," she said. "That's our new baby."

Carter examined the MALP. She could not discern any changes from the ones being used at present at the SGC, but she was sure it was what was on the inside that counted the most. The machine sat like a lost orphan inside the terrain room. The room was the size of a small gymnasium, portioned into different types of landscape designed to test the abilities of the drive controls.

"Ready to take a look?" Rachel asked eagerly.

"Sure," Sam answered, still in awe of the speed of change in her life.

Rachel followed the length of the glass panels to the end where a set of doors was clamped shut. They opened upon approach. Immediately, Sam's senses were rushed with the smell of fresh earth and the sticky humidity not unlike that of a greenhouse.

"This room can be configured for any climate encountered so far by SG teams. We've created a default terrain that applies to whatever temperature we run in here." Rachel pointed to a swamp area to the right. "All of that over there converts to ice testing when we crash the temperatures. We can have this place in arctic mode in less than twenty-four hours, if necessary."

"This is really impressive, Rachel," Sam complimented. She took another long look around her as they walked toward the MALP. She could almost have sworn there were elements of some of the planets SG1 had visited right there in front of her. "You guys really did your homework."

The dirt path to the MALP led to the edge of a dense pack of trees. "We don't have the luxury of flying the prototypes out to each climate we need to test, so we did the next best thing and built them all in one place down here."

They came upon the MALP. Sam got down on her haunches to inspect the control panel and any modifications Prime might have invented lately. "So, what have you guys done to the old design?"

Rachel hoisted herself up and sat on the MALP's battery housing. "First thing we did was increase the torque on the arm so it can pick up heavier objects. Then we did the standard hyping of the sensor arrays to increase accuracy and data transmission speeds."

"So what are the new enhancements?"

Rachel beamed. "We thought underwater propulsion would be a hell of a cool feature."

Sam was thrilled with the concept. "You're kidding?"

"Nope, check out the back."

Sam did, and there she found a set of vectoring jets with tiny propellers within them.

"This sucker can do seven knots if we push it, with three-sixty horizontal and ninety degree up – down navigation with all the sensors operational. There's a land remote with a viewer if you want to take it for a swim on mission."

Carter could not contain a giggle of excitement. There were quite a few missions where they could have used such a resource. "They're going to love this."

"Well, we can't exactly take credit for it. It was on the Pentagon's wish list of features."

"So what wasn't on the list?"

Rachel reached down and flipped open a panel on the side, revealing a screen similar to the medical monitors used by the SGC infirmary. "How about full medical analysis with basic scan technology?"

"Nice, but why?"

"Comes in handy if you want to make sure the guest tagging along with you back to the SGC is clean of Goa'uld infestation." Rachel gave a small grimace. "Or, if one of the team is wounded, there's at least some sort of diagnostic tool available if a jump back home isn't practical."

An inward shudder fluttered through Carter. No one on a jump team liked to consider that people were bound to get hurt at some point in gating to unknown worlds. It was an unspoken hazard of the job, one they had all been willing to risk for the sake of Earth's protection.

"Unfortunately, I can see how that would be valuable. Anything else?"

Rachel turned and opened a storage hatch on the opposite side of the MALP. She withdrew a set of goggles and handed them to Carter. "How about a multipurpose VR interface?"

Virtual reality was probably right up Prime's alley, Carter knew. It was the newest craze in technology. That meant that Prime Power had a hand in it in some vital way. "What can it do?"

"UAV flight control, data navigation, whatever. If it can be translated mathematically, the on-board processor will convert the information into a visual representation you can fly through with the VR unit. The interface is light speed compared to what they're doing now. We're trying to get the Pentagon to bite on a bid to let us integrate it into SGC operations; but as usual, they want more tests done."

"Well, I can understand their position on that," Carter said diplomatically, turning the goggles over in her hands. "The system they have right now works, and it keeps the SGC secure. I'm not so sure I'd want to mess with that, either."

"Yeah, I know," Rachel said with a wave of her hand, "if it ain't broke, don't fix it. I have the same philosophy, too. This stuff works, though. We've been using it here for three solid years, and it only gets better. Between the voice command control on everything and the VR, we're able to move ahead with our research faster than ever."

Sam handed the VR goggles back to Rachel. "So, if you have everything in order, why were you so hot and fired to get me out here?"

Dekker slipped the goggles back into the storage slot. "Because this baby isn't exactly cooperating with the world of physics, that's why."

"How so?" Sam asked, standing and brushing dust from her hands.

"Based on theoretical models, the circuitry will take a beating during molecular decomposition. We won't be able to get all the components online by the time the structure stabilizes on the other side of the wormhole. There's a startup sequence it will go through to initialize the system once it makes it through."

"How long does that take?"

"With all the toys online? About two or three minutes, depending on the priority."

"And the Pentagon doesn't want to wait for it, right?"

"Right. I don't blame them. I'd get impatient, too, if I had to wait for crucial jump data to come back to me."

"So, exactly what is it you want me to do?"

"Work with our people, lead the development team to get this thing firing on all cylinders the minute it makes it through the other side."

A chime sounded quietly somewhere in the rafters of the terrain room. For the first time, Sam looked up to find maze of catwalks and air ducts. Everything was matte black and difficult to discern in the harsh lights meant to simulate sunlight.

"Doctor Dekker," a female voice sounded, professional and clipped, "there is a call for you from Langley on line three."

Rachel sighed and gave a grimace. Quietly, she said, "Those Company R and D guys are so spooky." She looked up slightly. "Acknowledged. Transfer it to my office and have Doctor Adaire paged. Tell him to bring me the latest updates on his project."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rachel straightened and took a step toward Sam. "Look, I have to go take this call. I'm going to send one of the engineers to take you to your office and give you the specs on the project. We'll catch up once you've had a chance to settle in and catch your breath, okay?"

"Sure," Sam said. "I'd like to take a look at the MALP right now, if that's okay."

"Suit yourself. I'll have someone come in and get you when you're ready."

Sam gave a small smile. "Sounds good."

Rachel turned to leave but stopped after just a few steps. She turned to Sam, almost like an afterthought. "Hey," she called.

"Yeah?"

Dekker grinned. "Welcome to Prime, Major."

Sam grinned back, though it lacked the same enthusiasm. "Thanks," she said congenially.

In a moment, Rachel was gone, leaving Sam alone with the machine she had been recruited to fix. She slipped out of her jacket and laid it on a nearby rock. The battery casing of the MALP was standard. The whole outer shell, in fact, was to the same specifications as previous designs. Prime had made the new enhancements work in a proven closed space.

As she worked, she felt an eerie doubt drift into her thoughts. It was not a rampant argument as it had been when she had conceived the notion to leave the SGC. Instead, it was a churning sensation. Something seemed so wrong about coming to work for Prime, yet it seemed the opportunity of a lifetime.

Or maybe it was too good to be true?

Yes, she thought, maybe the problem was that it was too good to be true. It was not every day that major corporations gave someone the golden treatment. That was not the way the working class operated. Lofty positions had to be earned. The Air Force was cemented in that philosophy. Otherwise, there would be anarchy and nothing would get done. Someone had to be in charge.

Had she not earned the position Rachel had offered, though? Sam was sure she could successfully argue that her own sacrifices for country and planet were license enough to take the position at Prime Power. Besides, it was a matter of the circle of friends kept that mattered most in positions of stature. Her brains had gotten her far in her Air Force career, and she decided there was some bravery in the mix, as well. In any case, she had paid her dues. She had been shot, inhabited by an alien, kicked, punched, tortured, and had seen some of the most God-awful things she was sure she never wanted to see again. She had had her fill of death and struggle. It was time for someone else to take up the cause.

Still, there was an even deeper part of her that missed the SGC and all that went on there. It had been a dull ache on many days since her retirement from the program. She surmised it could have been the adrenaline withdrawal. Frightening though it was, there was an undeniable high that the body felt as it was being pursued. It was even more intense when SG1 was doing the pursuing. Going full auto on a weapon, blowing something to hell and back – that was the rush. That was the payoff of the job that no money could buy.

She could not see any potential at Prime for the camaraderie she felt at the SGC. She was going to be considered an executive. The solidarity that had developed with SG1 was the product of battle and loyalty. They were willing to die for one another. Sam thought about her team often and felt a surge of excitement when the phone would ring with someone like Daniel or Janet on the other end. Their voices were comforting and familiar in her now uncertain life. Even though she was out the ranks of their operations, a part of her life would always be there, always lingering no matter what she did.

She gave her head a slight shake, clearing it of her daydreaming session. There was work to be done. Yes, there were questions that she would have to answer. Perhaps, she admitted to herself, there were questions she should ask. She would make time for that. She had all the time in the world to figure out what to do with the rest of her life. Rachel Dekker had provided with it. In exchange, all Sam had to do was continue to be at the top of her technological game. That would not be a hard assignment. Dekker had all but assured her there would be plenty of time for research. There would be no deadline to jerry rig a solution because it meant people would die if she failed. No, this was the big league. This was where it all began, where the progress of the human race was birthed.

She sighed and got down low once more, examining the insides of the MALP. After all, she had a job to do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Jack rearranged the top shelf of his locker to reflect the military standards of neatness. It was doubtful anyone would inspect his quarters, his office or his locker. The SGC did not make it a habit to emphasize spit shine. It wanted performance, and O'Neill's people had given that beyond the call. Still, it never hurt to have things in order to at least give the appearance that all his thoughts were in at least somewhat similarly organized. They had not been for at least a month, but down time did that to a person. Most of all, it helped him organize the raging thoughts in his mind.

Carter was a designated target of the investigation. Despite the assurances given by Davis and Hammond's confidence in the Pentagon's intentions, he was not convinced of the Pentagon's benevolence in protecting Sam. It had one goal, and that was to nail Prime Power on various charges of impropriety. It did not care about collateral damage suffered in proving its point.

As he closed the door to his locker, he saw Douglas enter the room out of the corner of his eye. It was hard to miss someone of that height. SG1's new second-in-command was oblivious once more to the presence of anyone else, his nose pressed into a report folder. For a moment, Jack was reminded of Daniel, who had much the same habit.

"Douglas?"

Startled, Douglas straightened to attention, snapping a crisp salute. "Sir, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."

Jack flicked his fingers to his forehead in weak return salute. "Douglas, you don't have to salute me. We're indoors."

Douglas lowered his salute. "I'm sorry, sir. Army habit."

"Yet another reason to go Air Force," Jack jested. "Everything still okay?" He was genuinely interested to see how his new charge was fairing who had not yet been baptized in the fires of battling the Goa'uld.

Douglas ended his salute and tucked the report folder under his arm, still looking stiff and uncomfortable. "Everything's fine, sir. I'm nearly caught up on Major Carter's reports."

"And what have you found?" Jack curiously.

Douglas lowered his head a little, casting his eyes to the floor. An awkward smile formed on his lips, though it was subtle. "That Major Carter is considered tops in her field for a reason."

"Intimidating, isn't it?" Jack asked, allowing some pride to seep into his voice.

Alan looked up once more. "It's beyond intimidating with some of this stuff, sir. Her notes make me feel like I need to go back to school. She's got unique intuition about Goa'uld technology that I don't think anyone can rival, and I don't think it has anything to do with her experiences with a symbiote."

Jack motioned to the bench, inviting Douglas to sit. They both took up positions, Jack straddling the bench. "Be straight with me, Major – can you do the job?"

It was a hell of a question to ask, even unfair. Douglas had big shoes to fill in taking Carter's position, both as a scientist and as a ranking officer. Tact be damned, Jack had to know, though. It was important, and there was no official method for gaining the answer other than to come right out and ask the question.

As in the lab, Douglas waited for a moment, considering his answer. "Sir, I'll be honest with you – I'm nervous as all hell. It's not about making jumps or doing the job. I know I am good enough to handle the science of the missions." He paused. "I just don't want to screw up."

At least the answer was honest, Jack weighed. Screwing up sucked in any respect because it meant reparations or adjustments to even the best-laid plans. "We've all screwed up, Douglas. That's the nature of the business."

"People can die if mistakes are made, though, sir."

"Doesn't matter where it happens. You were in the Gulf. People died there. This is no different, except that it might happen on a world that's light years away. The rules of engagement are the same no matter where you are."

In the subtle light of the locker room, Douglas did not appear so bald to Jack as he had when they first met. It was unlikely that hair grew that fast, but maybe Douglas was an exception. He did not appear so young to Jack now as he had when they first met. Alan had lost some of the air of vulnerability Jack had detected at first. It was possible that the major had gained more solid footing having been able to sift through Carter's reports and had enough time to acclimate himself to the program and the base to make him more solid in his demeanor with his commanding officer and team leader.

Still, there were things Douglas could not know, especially about the inner workings and the interpersonal relationships that dwelled within the mountain. Up to that very moment, Douglas had no reason to care about the people at the SGC. He was a newbie to interstellar travel and to what it felt like when confronted with an alien contingency hellbent on destroying an entire planet. Then an idea suddenly dawned on O'Neill. There was a way to break Douglas into the mix and make him care without throwing him into the lion's den. He chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner.

"What do you know about Prime Power?" he asked.

Douglas looked surprised at the sudden shift in topics. "Prime manufactures the MALPs, sir. In fact, it builds just about all the priority equipment around the SGC. Why?"

"Well, they're going to be bringing in a new MALP thing, and there's a security concern about the team bringing it in."

"Sir?" Douglas looked confused.

"Apparently, there's been some dipping into personnel records at the Pentagon, and they think it's leading back to someone at Prime."

Douglas thought for a moment, then clearly grasped O'Neill's hint. When he did, he face became tense. "Major Carter's, sir?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah."

"If I may, sir, what kind of records?" he asked, setting his stack of folders on the bench before him.

"Evaluations, performance reports." O'Neill intentionally held back the big facts to test Alan's intuition.

To his relief, the major took it the necessary step further. "Medical and psych evaluations?"

"Now you're getting it," Jack said.

"And it's a hell of a coincidence now that Major Carter is consulting at Prime," concluded Douglas.

"We were thinking that, yes. That's why SG1 has been assigned to watchdog Prime's team when it comes here to test the new MALP. It's going to be a supervised visit with limited access to the rest of the base. I'm counting on you to keep your eyes peeled for the science liabilities."

"With all due respect, sir, that's going to be like drinking from a fire hose. Practically everything around here has some degree of classified material to it."

"I know," Jack conceded, "but we need to make sure we keep a rope on every one that comes in here."

"Sir," Douglas said, then hesitated.

"What is it, Douglas?" Jack asked, seeing the man was having difficulty.

"I was going to ask if the Pentagon suspects Major Carter of wrongdoing."

Jack took a deep breath, then exhaled. "The Pentagon is saying no, but I get the feeling they're not ruling anything out at this point. I can't say I blame them. They're following SOP like they would with any security breach."

Douglas' voice was soft. "But this is different for you, isn't it, sir?"

He considered his response. It was crucial to be diplomatic when it came to questions of a personal nature, especially where it involved military protocol. More than that, he was not sure of the Alan's degree of loyalty. "Major Carter was a part of SG1 for six years. It's not that easy to give up trust in someone after what our team has gone through with the Goa'uld."

"No, sir," Douglas replied quietly in a tone that suggested he understood. "Trust is the only thing you have sometimes in combat."

"So," Jack said, purposely lightening his tone to steer the conversation back to more neutral ground, "like I said, you'll need to keep your eyes peeled for the science stuff while Daniel, Teal'c and I look for the . . . non . . . science stuff."

Douglas smiled. "Yes, sir." He thought for a moment, once again hesitating. This time, he spoke without prompt, his face becoming serious. "If you want, sir, I can make a few calls to the Pentagon and see what I can dig up on Prime. I know a lot of people there, and they can keep it quiet."

Jack was skeptical. "How quiet?"

"Completely silent, if that's what it takes."

O'Neill considered the advantages of an inside track to more information and decided it was a good move, at least for the moment. It was unlikely that all the facts had been revealed in the briefing with Davis. The Pentagon was not known for laying all its cards on the table.

"Okay, see what you can see. Get back to me with whatever you find."

"Yes, sir. I'll make some calls after lunch this afternoon. Is there anything else I can do to help, sir?"

"No," Jack answered, though he felt like there was something lingering, a notion not quite formed in the back of his head. It would come to him, maybe in the middle of the night or spontaneously when something would trigger it to life. Until then, he would let it move about his subconscious until it was ready to reveal itself. "Thank you."

Douglas picked up his folders, stood and went to his locker. He retrieved two candy bars and a CD. As he turned to leave, he raised his hand as if to salute. Then he lowered it with a chagrined smile. "I'll let you know what I find this afternoon, sir."

O'Neill nodded and watched as Douglas exited the locker room. Then he was alone and left with his own thoughts on what Davis had asked him to do. The Pentagon wanted O'Neill to dismiss his implicit trust of Carter and replace it with suspicion and accusation. He had agreed to do it only because it was the only way of guaranteeing that an outside source would not be assigned to the same task. He feared an outsider would pursue the matter with an unjustified vigor, looking to invent a culprit if required to satisfy the demands of superiors.

The Pentagon's desire of O'Neill was that he should get any personal information out of Carter he could to expose any improprieties of which Prime might be guilty. A multitude of scenarios played out in his head as to how he could use Carter as an information source for the investigation. All of them ended with the same conclusion. She would resent him when she learned the truth. The truth would be inevitable if Prime were found to be lying. She would know, and he would have betrayed the years of trust that had been carefully cultivated through trial and victory.

He left the locker room, tired of having his head cluttered with the confusion of the matter. He would discuss it with Daniel, seeing if the anthropologist had any wise ancient words to cover the event of friends betraying one another.

The walk to Daniel's office was at a moderate pace, and Jack was grateful for the chance to work off some of the tension he felt. It helped him to order his presentation to Daniel so that he could voice his problem succinctly. He was going to push for the succinct answer, but he knew that was a practical impossibility. Daniel was thorough at the very least in any verbal explanation.

The halls were quiet as he walked. When he rounded the corner to Daniel's office, he was surprised to find Teal'c seated near Jackson. The lab's lighting was suffused and sleepy, making the small desk lamps appear to act as spotlights of concentration in an otherwise dark room. Teal'c held a stone artifact in hand, which was not surprising. The former First Prime of Apophis was called upon frequently to translate inscriptions that eluded the doctor in his work. They both looked up at Jack with curiosity, evidently not expecting a visit from the guy in charge.

"Hey, fellas," Jack said with a small wave. "What's new?"

Daniel gave a quick glance over to Teal'c, as if to verify the Jaffa was equally curious at Jack's unusual visit. "Teal'c was helping me finish up some translations from a while back. The down time has given me a chance to clear some of this stuff off my desk."

From the looks of Daniel's lab, it was doubtful anything got cleared away. Shelves held artifacts that had accumulated dust, and it was not the ancient kind. Books were stacked for convenience on nearly every flat surface available.

"That's good," Jack said, coming into the room. "Anything I can do to help?"

The offer caught the two men off guard. Once again, they exchanged a glance between them, then focused on Jack.

"No, not really," Daniel answered, sounding apologetic. A gentle smile crept upon his face. "This is mostly Goa'uld-ish stuff. Teal'c's got a handle on it, I think."

Jack neared the lab table and examined some titles on the binders of the books stacked there, but he never actually registered what he was reading. He knew he looked lost, and there was a part of him that wanted Daniel and Teal'c to ask why. At least then he would be able to verbalize the hundreds of thoughts raging in his brain.

"Jack," Daniel said, pausing until O'Neill acknowledged him, "are you okay?"

O'Neill stopped his lackadaisical examination of anthropology books, though his finger remained on the binding of one where he had been tracing the lettering. His instinct was to deny there was anything wrong, except he knew the whole reason he had come to Daniel's office in the first place was to vent and pose questions.

With an exasperated sigh, he said, "No, Daniel, I'm not."

Daniel kicked a stool in Jack's direction, and Teal'c put down the stone fragment he had been translating.

"What is it that troubles you, O'Neill?" Teal'c inquired softly.

Jack took comfort in the caring tone the Jaffa used. He suspected that the two men felt anxious about the Pentagon's request, as well.

He sat down on the stool and leaned his elbows on the lab table. "A lot of things, Teal'c," he replied, letting his frustrations vent. "This morning, the three of us were asked to put Carter into a vise and tighten the grip. No matter how this thing turns out, she's going to get bruised by the investigation because she's connected to Dekker and Prime and whoever else is smart enough to be running with that crowd. That bothers the hell out of me."

"It bothers me greatly, as well," Teal'c agreed. "However, there appears to be the greater issue of Stargate Command's security at stake."

"Hey," Jack said protectively, "I'm not arguing that one. I'm all for us being nice and safe and warm down here as much as the next guy."

"In order to achieve and maintain that security, it is sometimes necessary to contradict the bonds of friendship," Teal'c explained. "If the friendship is strong, then it will survive the trial."

Jack cupped his cheeks in his hands. He knew what Teal'c was saying, and the words sounded elegant. Still, the advice only made matters worse because it highlighted the fact that a friendship could be indeed lost if the bond was damaged too much.

He looked at Daniel, eyes probing. "What's your take on this?"

Daniel tossed his pencil onto the notebook in front of him. He took a deep breath and held it. Then he said, "I honestly don't know what to think. Somehow, I can't believe Davis would have us doing this if it was only going to hurt Sam. Hammond seems confident that Prime's the target. Even then, they're not sure Prime's done anything wrong except pull Sam's files to see if she was available to work for them."

"True," Jack conceded. "So why is it I feel like we're making her a suspect by helping them?"

Daniel gave another small smile. "Because we don't trust Washington?"

Jack rolled his eyes and gave a nod of consent.

"I don't think any of us believes Sam would be involved in something that could hurt the SGC or the Stargate program for that matter," Daniel persisted. "She knows how important the work we do here is, and not one of us is willing to accept that she'd betray that."

Teal'c was unusually somber. "It is reasonable to assume, O'Neill, that Major Carter is being watched by others. If it is determined that she is a liability, it is possible she may be eliminated as a threat. Because she has not been harmed, we may be witness to several agendas."

His words hung in the air. The Jaffa was right, Eeyore though he was at times. At the first sign of espionage, Carter could conceivably disappear or worse, be killed, in order to protect the integrity of the program. There were those in other agencies more than willing to take a head shot at anyone who posed a threat. Some even reveled in it, enjoying the thrill of the game.

That made Jack pause. "Which means there has to be more to this than we've been told. What's the trump card here? What does Prime have that gets them to this point? It can't be just the equipment. They're not the only civilian defense contractor out there that can build this stuff, right?"

"Probably not," Daniel answered, "but like Davis said, they probably undercut the competition and win the contract."

"And I'm having a really hard time believing that the Pentagon is so concerned because Carter's records were pulled," Jack continued. "Believe me, the military is not known for being sentimental in cases like this."

Teal'c gave a slight nod in agreement. "A military must be ordered and methodical. It risks weakness if it is not."

Daniel's expression became pensive. "So, we're safe in assuming there's something else going on, right?"

"Right," Jack said decisively. "Douglas is pulling a few strings this afternoon to see what he can dig up on the investigation."

"Douglas?" Daniel asked. His tone betrayed a hint of alarm. "You sure that's wise? He's not exactly a veteran of this place."

"Yeah, I thought about that," Jack muttered. "I don't see there's much of a choice, though. I've been burning bridges inadvertently lately, and I'm pretty sure Kinsey would block any inquiries I might make into the whole thing. At least Douglas can feed us some kind of information."

"Assuming he is honorable," Teal'c grumbled.

Jack looked at Teal'c and gave a wince. Their list of assumptions was growing at an uncomfortable rate. "Yeah."

"You know what bothers me the most, Jack?" Daniel continued.

"What's that?"

"The fact that Sam has no idea anything is wrong. She's completely clueless that there's even an investigation, much less the fact that she's the center of it."

"What do you want me to do? Go tell her?"

Daniel shrugged. "No one ever said we couldn't, did they?"

"No," Jack said slowly. Daniel's idea was upon him, and it seemed so simple a plan. "No, they didn't."

"So," Daniel said, pursing his lips briefly, "why don't you just go ask her?"

"Like, fly out there and ask her?" Jack asked, sweeping his hand like a jet taking flight.

"Well, I wouldn't want to simplify it too much," Daniel responded, his brow tightening, "but yes, fly out and ask her."

Jack drummed his fingers on the table in contemplation. His mind raced through the rules of the investigation one more time for verification. To his recollection, no one had said the team could not make contact with Carter. No one said they could not flat out ask her to explain the situation. They could get the straight answer from her, and O'Neill believed he would be able to tell from Carter's eyes whether or not he was hearing the truth.

"Well," Jack said in mock contemplation, "if we're going to keep the base secure, we should probably do a little ground work, right?"

"Right," Daniel said, readily agreeing with the plan.

Teal'c joined in the game. "Intelligence gathering is vital to any operation."

"Exactly," Jack said sharply, pointing an index finger at the men for emphasis.

They were silent for a short time. Each knew they were probably stretching or breaking every unspoken rule set forth by the Pentagon. There would be hell to pay if it turned out to be the wrong move. Their superiors would have little mercy, and there would be more holes to plug if Carter were on the wrong side of the tracks.

"So," Daniel said, taking another deep breath and breaking the silence, "you're going to California and you're bringing . . .?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Prime Power had assigned the MALP had a designation. Sam read the metal plate seated inside the battery housing. Model 426B had been outfitted with more toys and gadgets than she gambled would ever be used on a mission. It was true that the new rigging was nice, even considerate of the situations a mission team might face in the field. She doubted, however, there would be intense use of its capabilities. The primary function of the MALP would remain the same, which was to make sure the air and the environment were safe before any human beings from Earth's side of the wormhole stepped foot on the destination area.

Her examination of the machine could not be thorough until she could view the schematics of its layout. It was inadvisable, she decided, to start tearing it apart right there in the terrain room. The process of solving the MALP's power startup would begin with a study of the plans and they way the machine had been built. Only then would she entertain the thought of dissecting a machine so complicated.

Sam was startled to hear an unfamiliar voice call her name, and she turned in alarm. A woman stood behind her, silent and observing.

"I'm sorry," the older woman said, smiling.

Sam estimated that she was in her late fifties, maybe even early sixties. Her hair was a short, unnatural red, clearly artificial in color and curl given her age. Her wire framed glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, and light gold chains secured to the arms were attached to prevent them from getting lost. Her white lab coat hid most of the airy floral print dress she wore underneath, but her posture was quite possibly the most perfect that Sam had ever seen. It was above board to the military standard.

"I should have announced my presence," the woman added.

"It's okay," Sam replied, standing. She rubbed her hands together in an effort to clean them. Then she held out her hand. "Samantha Carter."

"Yes, I know who you are, Doctor Carter," said the woman, accepting the handshake. Her voice was definitely English in accent. "We're all intimately aware of your work with the SGC. I'm Doctor Ellen Bainbridge. I'm the lead engineer for the tenth, and I'll be showing you to your office. Doctor Dekker will be joining us after she finishes the conference with Langley. I assume she's updated you on our power startup problem with the 426?"

Sam nodded, giving a sideways glance at the MALP. "She gave me a brief overview, yes. It's hard to draw any conclusions just looking at it, though. If I could take a look at the designs, I can get a better handle on the circuitry."

"Of course," Doctor Bainbridge answered. She held out her hand toward the door. "If you'll follow me, we'll go to your lab and get you set up with the research."

Sam picked up her denim jacket from the rock, draping it over her arm. She followed Bainbridge out of the terrain room, marveling bemusedly at the woman's ability to traverse the unforgiving landscape in medium heels. She was glad Rachel had warned her the night before to wear casual clothing, including shoes that could stand a workout.

As they exited the terrain room's door, Bainbridge said, "I was surprised Rachel brought you on board so quickly. She's usually very cautious when hiring out a position. We're accustomed to waiting weeks, sometimes even months, for her to decide on the right person. To her credit, she has a good batting average for picking employees."

"We go back a few years," Sam remarked, unwilling to give Bainbridge more information about the past Rachel and she shared at the Pentagon.

Bainbridge kept walking, not turning her head even when she spoke. "So she's told me. She has great confidence in your work. Said you were tops in the ranks at the Pentagon's research facility. What was it you were working on, again?"

The muscles in Sam's neck stiffened with apprehension and a chill swept down her spine in tiny prickles as her senses alerted to Bainbridge's probe. She never liked when someone asked about her work, which was classified to the point of prosecution for treason if revealed. She especially did not like a stranger prying into her past research, which was still top secret.

Carter gave the standard answer. "I'm sorry, but it's still classified."

Bainbridge finally looked at Carter and gave a tight but polite smile, holding at bay her annoyance. "Of course," she said coolly, "I'm sorry. I should have known better than to ask."

"It's all right," Sam responded, equaling the Bainbridge's demeanor. "I'm sure you're in the same boat a lot of times."

They continued to pass through the heart of the tenth floor. The lab looked like a machine with parts that moved interactively to create one process. Each lab table had a worker huddled over one piece or another of research. Again, cursory glances shot her way as she followed in step with Bainbridge to the opposite side of the room. The area in the direction they were headed was made of clear glass that extended halfway down. Doors were situated at equal intervals. Black blinds would block the view through the glass if closed, preventing those on the outside from seeing the activities of those within the offices. To the right was another clean room with three separate entrance chambers to prepare someone for work inside the area.

"Your office is right over here," she said, indicating the area in front of them.

As they neared the glass wall of offices, a great crash came from an adjacent hall to the right. Bainbridge started with alarm and turned immediately toward the source of the commotion. Her steps were quick toward the clatter, Sam noticed as she followed close behind her guide. At the far end of the hall, the door to one of the offices was open. Either all the lights were off or the blinds had been closed. Sam was unsure until they reached it and found that both were true.

Bainbridge stepped just inside the doorway and said, "Archie, lights."

At the command, the overhead spots in the ceiling glowed and bathed the room in a warm yellowish brown that was pleasing and relaxing. Sam was surprised to find yet another lab inside the room that was equipped with the same platforms used in the main lab. The difference in this one was an array of screens that flashed out diagnostic information in a constant flow. Two of the keyboards were hanging by their wires off the side of the lab table, and papers were strewn as if thrown haphazardly into the air.

Bainbridge stood there, taking in the scene for a moment until they heard a stirring behind the lab table followed by a quiet but brief groan. The doctor moved in quickly, rounding the corner of the table. She stopped short in order to avoid stepping on a man lying flat on his back. A white lab coat was like a halo against the body wearing blue jeans, boots and a black t-shirt. The stool he had been on had toppled and came to rest at an angle near his head. Aside from the alarm of the situation, Sam could not help the stab of excitement at what she saw the man wearing on his head and hands. The black goggles and gloves were full tactile virtual reality controls.

Doctor Bainbridge knelt down next to the man, her hands reaching out to stabilize his head. "Holleran? Can you hear me?"

There was a moment of quiet, then Holleran began to giggle. His chest rumbled with a kind of laughter that Jack would have called "goofy". Bainbridge gently removed the goggles to reveal the face of a young man who could not have been older than twenty-five years. His sandy blonde hair was short, and his blue eyes crinkled from his smile, reminding Sam of Martouf.

He gave another giggle but quickly beat it down at the sight of Bainbridge's motherly annoyance. He was looking up at her, her head upside down to his view. He cleared his throat quietly, licked his lips and blinked rapidly. "I w-was f-f-flying," he stammered. Then his broad smile returned and so did the giggling.

Bainbridge was not amused. "How did you end up on the floor?"

He struggled to get the words from his brain to his mouth. "Breaking r-right," he managed.

In that moment, Sam understood what had happened. The humor of the moment was contagious. Holleran must have been running a simulator of some type. Breaking right meant that the view inside the goggles would have pitched to fulfill his command, as if pulling a plane into a hard right turn. His sense of equilibrium must have been knocked off course, and that would have been enough to send him to the floor.

"Yeah, that would do it," Sam acknowledged as she stooped down near Bainbridge and Holleran.

Holleran was taken by surprise at Sam's presence. He tensed and sat up quickly, trying to compose himself. He tried to say something, but his impediment prevented him from giving the customary apologies. Bainbridge helped him to his feet and put the stool upright once more. She gently moved Holleran to it.

Sam picked up the VR equipment from the floor and put them on the lab table. "This is some setup in here. This is all your design?"

Holleran nodded quickly, not making any eye contact with Carter. His face was flushed. Bainbridge was checking his scalp where a small cut was swelling. He winced when she touched it.

"Let's get you down to Medical and have them take a look this," Bainbridge said just as Rachel entered the room in a flourish.

Rachel was at Holleran's side in just a few steps. "What happened?" she asked in a tone that was anything but curiosity. It was worry.

Bainbridge crossed her arms in front of her and sighed. "Apparently, Holleran was flying," she answered, annoyance riding across her features again. "He 'broke right'," she said, emphasizing the phrase, "and fell off his chair. He's got a small bump on the head, but nothing too serious. I'm taking him to Medical for a bandage and maybe even an ice cream cone if he behaves."

A sheepish smile grew on Holleran's face once more at Bainbridge's concern. "Sprinkles?" he said, puppy dog eyes turning on the charm.

Bainbridge gave another deadpan look at Holleran. "Off we go now," she said, pulling him up by the arm. She began ushering him out of the room.

Just as they reached the door, Holleran turned and gave a small wave to Sam. "B-Bye!" he said as Bainbridge pulled him along by the arm. Then they were gone.

Rachel inhaled sharply and let it out slow and steady, as if to calm herself. She sat down on the stool and shook her head. "That boy puts gray hairs on my head some days."

Sam leaned on the lab table with her hip. A feeling of concern welled up for her friend who was clearly upset at Holleran's tumble. "You okay?"

Rachel shrugged off the question with quiet laugh. "Yeah. He's just one of those people that keeps me on my toes is all."

Carter took another look around the VR lab, admiring its contents. "If all this is his work, he's brilliant," she declared.

Rachel grunted with a sort of disdain. She stood. "He better be," she admonished, "he's my brother." With a shake of her head, she was out the door.

Then Sam was alone in the room. "Brother?" she whispered to the air. "I didn't even know you had one, Rachel."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Major Davis was all too eager to when he learned Jack would be flying out to check on Carter, and that worried O'Neill more than anything. How Davis had found out about the trip was another matter but not one that bore much importance. There were few secrets on the inside in a tightly classified program. Hammond had approved the time off for the trip. Though he did not voice concern, it was written all over the general's face. The grim factor was beginning to add up to trouble in Jack's opinion. Grim meant bad, and bad was never good.

He considered calling Carter to let her know he was stopping by – three states away – for lunch, but that might have put some things in motion to sidetrack his purpose. No, he would pop in at Prime and check out the digs. At the very least, he would see what reaction it got from the company and some important people running it.

After a less than luxurious military flight out to Orange County, O'Neill went through the traveler's hell of picking up luggage, finding a rental car and asking for directions. Prime Power's facility, he found, was in the middle of abandoned buildings near the ocean. When he pulled into the area, he checked and rechecked the address he had gotten at the SGC for the company. To the casual eye, the dilapidated row of warehouse and factory units would have looked vacant. However, to his military eye that was trained to analyze the enemy before all else, he saw armed guards placed strategically around the complex. High-powered sniper rifles and medium range assault weapons rounded out the electronic surveillance equipment buried in the ruts of the building's façade.

He pulled the rental SUV into the drive to what he assumed was an office. He parked near the door and stepped on to the pavement. Immediately, someone appeared at the double doors.

_Ah, urban assault gear - how stylish_, he thought as he took in the black fatigues of the guard.

"Howdy," O'Neill called out with forced levity that always seemed to surface when he felt outnumbered.

The guy looked like a linebacker, all muscle and brawn. His tone was authoritative. "You can't park your vehicle there, sir. This is a restricted lot."

Jack approached, careful not to incite Big Boy into a confrontation. "I need to talk to someone inside."

"Did you call ahead?"

In his periphery, O'Neill could see movement on the rooftops and around corners as backup units mobilized for possible attack. "No, I didn't. I'm here to see Major Samantha Carter."

"And you are?"

"Colonel Jack O'Neill, United States Air Force."

The guard took in O'Neill's civilian dress of jeans, t-shirt and black leather jacket. "I'll need to see some identification," he said skeptically. He held out his hand.

Jack took out his wallet, mindful of the speed of his movement so as not to encourage the snipers to send a bullet his way. He handed over his military identification card.

The guard checked the picture on the card against Jack's appearance and seemed satisfied that there was a match. "Wait here."

Jack was aware of his captive audience as the guard disappeared through the double doors. He moved back toward the SUV and leaned against the hood. The California sun felt good on his face, such a contrast to the winter weather of Colorado. He stretched the taut muscles in his shoulders as he dutifully waited for the guard to return. The doors opened again, but the guard was nowhere in sight. Instead, Sam stood there, shielding her eyes against the bright light of day.

"Colonel?"

"Carter!" O'Neill called jovially. He straightened and walked to her. Aside from her concern, she looked more relaxed than the last time he had seen her. Jeans, denim shirt, work boots – she was nearly the same to him but healthier. "How the hell are ya?"

There was worry etched on her face. "I'm fine, sir," she answered, confused. "Is everything all right? Daniel, Teal'c?"

"Oh, they're just fine," he assured.

Her confusion did not lessen. "And everyone else?"

"Fine," he confirmed.

She paused briefly, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. "And you, sir?" she asked slowly.

He took a deep breath and let it out as he answered, "I could use some lunch."

"Lunch?"

"Yeah. The commissary was getting a bit much, so I thought I'd drop by and see you, take in a few sights and grab some lunch on the way. I always wanted to see that Hollywood sign."

Her eyes were still squinting, but he could see it was not because of the bright light. The absurdity of his reason for seeing her was reflected in her words. "You flew all the way from Colorado for lunch?" Then she issued a small chuckle at the thought.

He nodded at the SUV behind him. "I rented a really cool truck. Has a CD player."

A smile was forming at his form of bribery. "Yes, sir, I can see that."

Someone emerged from the building and moved in behind Carter. O'Neill immediately recognized the woman as Rachel Dekker. She was even more stunning in person than the file photograph. She was dressed as casually as Carter, and that was something he had not expected. From Dekker's file, he thought she would be dressed to the nines every waking moment.

"Well, if it isn't the legendary Colonel Jack O'Neill," Dekker mused. "We finally meet." She put out her hand in welcome.

"And you must be Rachel Dekker," he responded, accepting the offer. Her touch was all business, no warmth to be found in the grasp. He sensed wariness on her part, an unease that was translated into her body language.

Carter's look of surprise at Jack's answer was clear. He clarified his knowledge. "I did some checking like any good ex-CO with a little database access would do."

"Of course," Rachel confirmed, though her eyes were accusing O'Neill of something entirely underhanded. "Would you like to come inside and have a cup of coffee?"

"Actually," Jack said, shoving his hands into his pockets, "I was wondering if I could borrow Major Carter for a few hours. Y'know, catch up on old times."

"Of course," Rachel said obligingly, so smoothly that it seemed anything but genuine to O'Neill. "Anything to keep you sending me business, Colonel."

"Oh, I don't think there's any danger of that not happening," he said.

"In fact, you can have her for the rest of the day. Sam knows where we stand on the project. I'll trust she can manage her time spent here using her best judgment."

The tension in the air was thick. Dekker eyed Jack with a piercing blue stare that screamed loud and clear she knew why he was there and that he was treading on her turf now, not his own SGC kingdom. At least, that was what he took it as saying. He could have been dead wrong. Maybe Rachel Dekker simply had a demonic look in her eyes for no apparent reason. Genetics were sometimes cruel to the human race. It was entirely possible that he was reading something sinister into the situation because he knew a secret.

Carter excused herself and went back inside to retrieve her jacket. He made idle chit chat with Dekker about the weather, the flight to California, and the generic comments meant to pass the time.

With no segue, Dekker stepped closer to O'Neill and said, "Hell of a long trip just for lunch, Colonel."

O'Neill kept features neutral. "Well, you know how it goes," he said casually. "Sometimes, you just need to get out and about and see the world."

"So, this has nothing to do with wooing Sam back to the SGC?"

She was tall, nearly his height. His gaze was level with hers. "I haven't 'wooed' since I was a second lieutenant. How about you?"

She smiled mischievously. "I'm in the business of supplying the military, Colonel. If I didn't kiss ass every once in a while, I'd never get a contract."

He looked over her head at the complex. He wanted ask if her knees were sore, but that would have been childish and unprofessional. Appropriate, but childish and unprofessional. "Looks like it's paying off."

"Our products speak for themselves. You, of all people, should know that."

"And you get that by surrounding yourself with the best?"

"Don't you do the same? From what I understand, you accept nothing less than the best of the best to serve under your command."

A bit of pride seeped forth in his voice, and he answered her with confidence. "That's right."

Dekker folded her arms and smirked. "Must have stung like hell to know Carter left you for Prime, then."

Anger snapped through him like a bolt of lightning. She was taunting him! She was broadcasting her contempt for him and making no effort to disguise it. He was at a severe loss for a clever retort since what Dekker had said was so true. It had stung, and it had hurt. SG1 had been through so much as a unit. Now, he was left to integrate a man he did particularly like or trust into a position Carter had fulfilled beyond the call of duty.

"Carter feels it was a good move for her," he said finally.

"Ah," she said, as though the answer was perfectly solid. The smirk returned, though, and it spoke volumes as she chalked one up for Prime's team.

He was never so glad to see Sam as when she emerged from the lobby of the building, jacket in hand. She was walking quickly, and O'Neill sensed urgency on her part to separate him from the conversation with Dekker. "You ready, sir?"

"Oh yeah," he said strongly, equally eager to escape Dekker's prying.

Jack turned and headed for the car. Carter lingered and murmured some perfunctory goodbye words and a few gestures. Then she joined him and they were on the road, headed toward Van Nuys.

They drove in silence until they had left the facility grounds. Then Sam said, "So, what's going on, Colonel?"

He kept his eyes on the road. "Nothing. What – a former CO can't come visit his former 2IC and see how things are going?"

"No," she said. A sharpness that seemed foreign seeped in to her voice. "If something is going on, just tell me."

He had been thinking all morning during the flight as to how to casually bring up the topic of Prime and Dekker and all the misgivings the SGC had about the entire ball of wax. None of the methods could have been considered winners, and he still felt at a total loss for tactics. He decided to simply put the issue on the table as she had requested.

"The Pentagon is having a problem with Prime Power. You," he said specifically, "are having a problem with Prime Power, but you just don't know it yet."

To his relief, her reaction was slightly incredulous but controlled. He half-expected her to explode at the accusation. "I am?"

"A few weeks before you left the SGC, someone pulled your records."

"What kind of records?"

"Service, medical and psych – the whole nine yards. The Pentagon is pretty sure it was someone at Prime."

"That's virtually impossible. Those records are sealed."

"Which is why Major Davis and company are leaning toward Prime as the culprit. They're coming up with squat for suspects except for the place that just so happens to hire you a month after you leave the SGC."

"And the concern is what?"

He rolled down the window to let the warm air blow through the car. "You tell me, Carter, because I'm having a hell of a time coming up with a reason Prime Power would want to know about every hangnail you ever had."

Carter paused. He could see the shock lingering on her face. "I can't answer that, sir. I'm working on the new MALP. That's it."

"We have to figure this out, Sam. The Pentagon isn't going to let it go if they think something's wrong. I don't want to see you going down for something you didn't do."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted, alarmed, "exactly what are we talking about? Who's going down for what?"

She had asked, he told himself. She wanted him to be blunt, so he was going to do just that. "They're thinking it's not a coincidence that Prime is getting all the contracts. They know there's a leak, and they don't care how it gets plugged as long as it goes away. If that means taking down the Prime empire, then that's what they'll do. If you're on the boat when that happens, you're going to sink right with them. The Pentagon is willing to sacrifice you to keep the program intact."

Carter wagged her head in disbelief. "I can't believe Prime would be ripped from the loop, sir. Their systems are too integrated in SGC operations. If we pulled the plug on them, we'd lose their research support on the equipment."

"They'll risk that to maintain the secrecy of the SGC."

"What's to say Prime wouldn't reveal it out of spite if they were dropped?"

Jack was silent for a moment, trying to tactfully phrase his response. "Let's just say those involved would be handled."

It took a beat for his meaning to sink in, but when she understood, she said, "You've got to be kidding."

"No, I'm not. Those rules apply for any civilian contractor working with the SGC. You know that."

"And you agree with it?" she argued.

"I didn't say that, but there's too much at stake to have some corporation yapping its gums over classified operations." He thought about it for a second and added, "So, yeah, I guess you could say I agree with it."

Sam sank back in to the passenger seat and looked out at the road, pondering his words. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I don't want to see you get a target painted on your back."

"No, sir, _why_ are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do with everything you just gave me?"

O'Neill felt frustrated with her question, and it showed in his heavy sigh. "I think it's pretty apparent what you're supposed to do, Carter. The Pentagon can't slip anyone to the inside of Prime because Dekker's got the hiring thing wound so tight. You're already there. They want to know what you know."

"I don't know anything!" she exclaimed, throwing her hand forward in exasperation. Her embarrassment at the outburst made her slouch down even further into the seat. In a calmer but still bothered voice, she said, "Sir, I work on the MALP. That's it. I mean, what do they think I'm doing there – balancing the books?"

"It's not what they think, Carter, it's what they know. They know you're the only person they've got on the inside who can give them a clue where Prime is headed."

"And where do they think that is? That's the one thing I haven't heard you mention so far, sir. You're asking me to report on Prime, but you haven't told me why."

"I'm not even sure the Pentagon knows," he admitted. "All they know for sure is that your classified records were accessed by someone at Prime, and you _just so happen_ to be employed there a few weeks later. Don't you find that a little strange?"

Sam rested her elbow on the doorframe and cradled her forehead in her hand. "Okay, I'll admit it's strange, and I won't even mention the illegality of them pulling classified service records; but you don't even know what it is they _might_ be doing. I'm sorry, sir, but that's not exactly the ideal springboard for me to start looking."

"I'm not asking you to launch an investigation, Carter. I just want you to keep your eyes open. Prime is scheduled to test the MALP in a few weeks. If nothing happens, nothing happens. I'll go to Hammond, myself, and tell him the Pentagon should lay off Prime and you and whoever else."

"And if something does happen?"

O'Neill glanced at her matter-of-factly. "Prime Power and Rachel Dekker are in a lot of trouble."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Well, I have a confession to make – I completely rewrote this chapter. In fact, I revamped most of the plot because, well, I just didn't like what I had originally planned or written. So, here's the new turn, although you'll never know it because nothing needs to be retracted (yet). Hope you enjoy the continuing adventure. **

**Chapter 9**

Ellen Bainbridge was in a hurry. The drive to her house was a long one along the winding California highways. Twice, she came to a complete stop in rush hour traffic. Her eyes darted between the road and her rearview mirror, checking to see if she was being followed. She doubted she would be able to tell in the heavy congestion, but she was confident she would be able to see more clearly if someone was tailing her once she came to her exit.

She rode the slow lane the entire way, constantly aware of an escape route if she needed it. The radio was off, but the air conditioning was at least comforting in its steady sound. It calmed her nerves somewhat until she neared her exit. She gunned her blue Mercedes on the off-ramp, eager to find space in which to breathe. A quick look in the mirror showed no suspicious vehicles, no one following too closely.

Her house was on a quiet street, seven blocks off the highway. Ellen remembered when she and her husband settled on the property. He was a pharmaceutical salesman. They met in a quiet Donegal pub while she was on holiday. He brought her to the United States, and they remained together for almost twenty-five years before cancer took him from her on a crystal clear Sunday morning. There were too many memories in the house to leave them to some stranger. He was there with her, in the quiet moments at night. Sometimes, she swore she could feel his arms about her as she lay alone in the bed they had shared.

Now, her research kept her company. After Stewart died, she threw herself into her work with abandon. As was the saying, Prime had come looking for her with glowing opportunities she could not turn down by any means. It had been a salve to the pain of losing Stewart, the lifeblood she had enjoyed so much. It had been a conduit for her mind to ease the pressure she felt in her soul and the longing to have him back for just one more day. Just as Stewart was once everything in her life, now her work was.

The sun had begun to set, casting shadows over the quiet street. Some porch lights were already on, with neighbors sitting and enjoying the reprieve Friday brought from the hectic work week. Ellen envisioned her youth, when such a time was ideal for "kick the can" and "hide and seek." They were childhood pastimes she remembered so fondly that they brought waves of memories flooding back through her mind as though it were yesterday.

Her house sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, apart from neighbors with prying eyes. The setting was perfect when she wanted to work on projects in the privacy of her home. There was no risk of accidental exposure of research through the open windows of the beige one-story ranch with hunter green shutters and cement pad porch. They had purchased the unimproved lots on either side, giving them plenty of privacy and a lawn which Stewart rejoiced in keeping pristine.

The tiny lanterns that lit the sidewalk to the front door had come on automatically when darkness had dimmed the sky enough. Ellen punched the garage door opener, waiting as the hulking wall rose and disappeared into the ceiling. She pulled the Mercedes into the carport. With one last look in the rearview mirror to ensure no one had followed her, she hit the controller again to shut the door.

The garage light illuminated the yard tools Stewart had collected over the years, which she had not the heart to get rid of even once. The clumps of grass that clung to the side of the Weed Eater reminded her of the line of grass stains she would toil to get out of the white socks he wore with his beloved Nikes that he would never let her throw in the trash. She had kept those shoes, too, in the closet they shared equally.

Ellen reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed her briefcase, her heart beginning to pump faster at what she suspected the samples inside it contained. She had taken research home with her before and had the full blessing of Prime to work out of her home in the off hours. She was a senior researcher, and only Rachel Dekker had the authority to reprimand her for such actions. The samples had been passed through Security without question. In fact, no one had bothered to even check her briefcase as she hurried out the doors of the research facility.

The air was cool in the garage as she exited the Mercedes and made her way to the door leading into the kitchen. Once she unlocked the door, she kicked off her heels, reveling in the cool linoleum as she padded across it toward the cupboards. She held the briefcase tightly in her one hand while she rummaged in the food cupboard, pushing aside boxes of pasta and rice. She reached down into the gap between the wall and the shelf and pulled out the book with the brown cardboard cover. Ellen's diaries of research notes had been kept there for quite some time. They were her back up in case Prime's servers were compromised. There were several volumes that had been compiled over the years. When one book became filled, she carefully hid it in the basement safe, the safe Stewart never was there in all the years they shared a life. Then she put a new blank notebook in its place in the cupboard.

She closed the cupboard door and went to the den, feeling the change from linoleum to plush carpet that comforted her aching feet in the dim light from the kitchen. It seemed she had been standing all day for one reason or another. Her office was to the right of the fireplace. Large glass doors to the patio were off to the left. She entered the study and found everything as she had left it, with the soft lamplight glowing in the corner that had come on automatically via a timer. The microscope she had bought with her own money was no Wal-Mart special. It was industry standard, and she used it to stay one step ahead at work when projects were down to the wire. It was powerful enough to enlarge the samples in her briefcase to allow her to further examine what she was surprised to find at work. It had been by accident, really. A simple intent of DNA profiling as a base for a project had turned into something so large she could hardly believe the implications. Her hands felt clammy as she placed the briefcase on the desk and sat down in the high-backed chair.

Something felt off, but she could not say what it was. Her nerves were on edge, and at first, she assumed that had been it. But the feeling continued to gnaw at her as she pulled out the samples and prepared them for viewing under the microscope. It was a presence she could not define. Her mind had been on Stewart so much lately, missing him, that part of her hoped it was his spirit coming to visit her and hold just one more time, to tell her he was okay and that she would be, too. Ellen stopped cold for a moment and listened. The house was quiet except for the sound of central air pushing through the vent at her feet.

She put the sample on the slide and wet it with a contrast solution. The fragile slip sucked down onto the liquid, trapping the object of her interest. She slid the slide under the clamps on the stage of the microscope and turned on its light. She began to focus the view. A heart rate that had been elevated before suddenly picked up speed as she confirmed once again what she had seen in her lab at Prime. It was impossible to say for certain what she was looking at without extensive testing, but Ellen had quite the educated guess.

Her notes were furiously scribbled, deducing everything she could think of for a source. Previous tests were negative for such an anomaly, and she knew when those had been done because she was the one to perform them. Now, Prime had been compromised. Ellen's mind flew as she traced the possibilities of sources. There could only be one, and she wrote down the thought in the notebook.

The sound from outside her window that looked on to the patio had been so slight, but in Ellen's ears, it sounded like a clamor. It broke her concentration so swiftly that she jumped. Was it a shadow she had just seen in the waning hours of daylight? The patio lights were off, shrouding the back of the house in darkness. She had meant to turn them on when she got home but had forgotten. Her heart thumped more as she stood and closed the notebook. She got up and went back to the kitchen, putting the book back in its hiding place in the cupboard.

There was another noise, and this time, she was sure she was not imagining it. She heard the sliding door to the patio slowly open as the rollers slid against the metal track. Her hand went to the light switch in the kitchen, dousing it into darkness. The living room lights were off, with the only light coming from her study. She saw the shadowy figure cross the living room, taking time to look into the study. Ellen looked for a weapon to defend herself with, but there was nothing near she could get to without making noise and revealing her position. And in just a few seconds, the point was moot. The intruder saw her crouched down behind the half wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. The rate of closure was immense, leaving her nowhere to go.

The first blow sent her reeling backward as the intruder struck her head with a gloved, closed fist. Ellen saw bright lights flash and felt a painful gash open across the bridge of her nose. The stinging in her sinuses increased as the blood began to flow from her nostrils. Then came the merciless, relentless series of punches and kicks. She tried to scramble away, but there was nowhere to go. She cowered in the corner, trying to protect her head to no avail. The strikes continued as the intruder, clad in black, continued the assault.

Suddenly, the pain seemed to abate as her senses slipped into the blessed state of semi-consciousness. Ellen had no grasp of time, nor did she really care. The intruder had stopped the attack. Through one swollen eye she was able to open, she saw legs walking away from her and out into the living room. Shadows cast on the wall told her someone was in the study. She heard things being moved, drawers being opened, and she prayed that the precious ships in a bottle Stewart loved to make that she kept on the shelf in there remained intact.

The legs reappeared in the kitchen once more. Her briefcase hung beside them. Her work was being taken. Ellen made the mistake of trying to breathe. The gurgling sound of blood in her throat alerted the intruder to her consciousness. She saw the boot coming toward her face and closed the one eye before it hit.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Sam had no sooner thrown her jacket on the bed at the Radisson than her cell phone rang, jarring her out of her reverie and review of the conversation with Jack O'Neill, who was now on his way back to Cheyenne.

"Carter," she answered.

"It's Rachel," Dekker said sharply. "Where are you?"

The urgency stunned Carter. She could hear the sound of traffic in the background and the extreme edge to Rachel's voice. "At my hotel. Why? What's wrong?"

"I'm on my way to Mercy General. Ellen Bainbridge is in the ER."

"What happened?" Sam asked, shocked.

"Someone broke in to her house and beat the hell out of her."

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know, but they're telling me to get there as soon as possible." Rachel paused for a moment. "Sam, I could use some backup on this one."

Carter did not hesitate. "I'm on my way," she said. She picked up her jacket and keys and headed out the door.

She listened as Rachel gave driving directions to the hospital from the hotel. It was a straight shot. With care, Carter ran two red lights that had no cross traffic, fully prepared to flash government credentials at anyone who might try to pull her over for it.

The visitor parking lot was off to the side of the emergency room, just a short walk. Sam jogged to the doors, seeing Rachel inside already at the information desk, demanding information. The nurse behind the desk was unimpressed at the tirade building in her honor. Sam intervened.

Carter pulled out her identification. "I'm Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. This is official government business. Ellen Bainbridge was brought in a while ago. We need to get back there right now."

"I'm sorry, Major," the nurse said with what Carter felt was a snobbish and superior attitude, "I can't admit you to the trauma area."

The nurse was a sweet young thing, probably just out of college and stuck taking temperatures in the general triage area. Carter doubted she had even seen Bainbridge brought in via the ambulance bay. Her dark hair was gathered in a ponytail tied with a bow. Her green scrubs were pristine and pressed, hardly the look of nurses Carter had seen working in a trauma ER.

"Listen . . . " Carter peered down at the nurse's identification badge, "Becky Henstridge – this is a matter of national security. I would hate to see your name show up all over my reports as having impeded an investigation. Now, you can either let us back there, or you can have a very busy rest of the week with federal investigators prying into every aspect of your life."

Becky gave Carter's threat some consideration. Her hand moved to the phone. "Let me call my supervisor." She began dialing quickly and murmured her plight to whoever was on the receiving end of the call.

In a few moments, an older nurse – one with experienced eyes and a figure that was not quite as shapely as Becky's from too many years of donuts for a quick dinner – appeared. Carter flashed the credentials again and announced herself to the supervisor, Margaret Holmes.

Carter began to unleash again that it was a government investigation when Margaret held up two hands to stop her.

"I get it already," Margaret said. She was obviously more in tune with what credentials meant than Becky was. "Follow me."

Sam and Rachel followed Margaret through the sliding glass doors into the trauma area.

"I'm not going to lie to you," Margaret said, "She's in bad shape. Any idea who did this to her?"

Rachel was silent to the question.

"No," Carter answered. "Has she said anything?"

"She's been unconscious since they brought her in. Even if she was awake, she's been worked over pretty good. I doubt she could say anything anyway. Broken jaw, facial bones, teeth missing. The doctors are still assessing, but I'd say she's in a bad way right now. The doctors will have more information, but I've seen my share of assaults like this. It's never good."

The double doors to the trauma room where Bainbridge was being treated was a hive of activity. Bloodied material lay strewn on the floor. Carter saw the neck brace that sat flush against Ellen's chin, keeping her immobilized as medical staff worked on her. A plainclothes detective leaned against the wall to the left of the trauma room, arms folded, waiting.

"Wait here," Margaret said, leaving Rachel and Carter to halt where the detective stood. She went in and began talking with one of the doctors working on Bainbridge.

The detective sized up the two women. His salt and pepper crew cut and thin mustache screamed he no longer worked undercover. He looked every bit the cop, thin but muscular and laced with a cockiness that was required to do such a job on a daily basis.

He nodded. "Can I help you?" he said in a way that was a warning.

Carter was not impressed. Once again, she presented her identification. "I'm Major Carter, United States Air Force. Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

He straightened. "Detective Sergeant Garner. What's your interest in this case, Major?" he said, examining her identification closely.

"I'm afraid that's a matter of national security, Sergeant. I need to know what you know so far."

Garner peered into the room, as if to refresh his memory. "Look, I can't just spill a case to you without some verification."

Rachel stepped forward, her frustration finally reaching its limit. "Ellen works for me at Prime Power on some very sensitive projects. Who did this to her?"

"What's your name?" Garner asked.

"Rachel Dekker."

Garner nodded. "Saw your name in an address book in the kitchen," he said in recognition. "You're her ICE contact on her cell phone, too."

"Yeah, I know, one of you guys called me," Rachel said in hasty confirmation. "What the hell happened?"

Garner addressed Carter more than Rachel. "As far as we can tell, there was no forced entry. The patio door was unlocked, which is probably how the perp got in. She was assaulted in the kitchen. Doesn't look like anything was taken."

Carter was trying to absorb the information all at once. "Who found her?"

"No one," Garner said. "She called it in herself. Dialed nine-one-one but couldn't talk. Black and whites responded and found her inside. By then, she was out like a light. We don't know any more than that at the moment, and nobody saw a thing. Forensics is working the house over now, but there's not much to go on at this point."

Rachel stared into the trauma room, watching the medical team work on Bainbridge.

"How bad are her injuries?" Carter continued.

"No sign of sexual assault, but whoever did this to her has issues."

A doctor in what Sam estimated in his forties, dark and tall, made his way toward the door. Garner pulled out a notepad and pen.

"What's the verdict, Doc?" he asked nonchalantly, as though bored that it was business as usual for an assault case.

The doctor turned slightly to address Rachel and Sam. "I'm Doctor Sandoval. Are you family?"

"They're clear, Doc," Garner said. "Federal interest in this one. You can talk in front of them. What have we got?"

Sandoval folded his arms and took a deep breath, letting it out quickly. "It's not good. Couple of deep face lacs, broken nose and jaw, and the CT scan isn't encouraging. We're going to get her to ICU to monitor, but I wouldn't be surprised if we're putting in a shunt tonight to relieve some pressure on her brain. She has a skull fracture that's causing some swelling, and there may be additional damage to the vertebrae in her neck. We won't know the extent of that until the swelling goes down a bit."

The litany of injuries was overwhelming. Sam tried to process it all. She silently wished Fraiser were available to get more information, but something told her Sandoval had told all he knew.

"Can I see her?" Rachel asked.

"Sure," Sandoval said, "but you should know she's pretty cut up and bruised. I want to prepare you for that."

Sam watched as Sandoval guided Rachel into the trauma room. The president of Prime Power stood at the side of the gurney. She reached down and held Ellen's hand, trying to keep emotions at bay. Sam had never seen Rachel so distraught and out of control.

Garner broke the silence. "I'm going to take it that your friend is a little more emotionally involved here than you are."

Something snapped inside Sam. Garner was peanuts compared to what she had endured of NID, CIA, FBI and every three-letter agency who occasionally meddled in SGC operations. His demeanor was insulting and annoying, his intimidation factor mediocre at best.

"I need full disclosure from you, Sergeant," Sam said directly. "I want a copy of the report you file on this and any follow-ups. Is that understood?"

Garner gave several mock salutes. "Yes, ma'am, yes, sir," he said, jumping to attention.

She stepped closer to him. "You may think this is funny, but the Air Force sure as hell isn't laughing. You won't be, either, if I find for one minute you're holding back information. Is that clear?"

The detective was not intimidated. "Take it up with my superiors," he said, dismissing her threats.

Her hand was on her cell phone so fast it looked like a gunfighter's draw. She hit the speed dial.

"Colonel O'Neill, this is Major Carter, sir. I need some guidance given to the local PD here concerning an assault case I'm investigating."

O'Neill paused on the other side of the connection. "Carter? You okay?"

"Yes, sir. I'll explain the details later. I need you to place a call to the supervisor of a Detective Sergeant Garner. He's working the assault case of Ellen Bainbridge. Let them know I am to be kept in the loop of the investigation and have full clearance."

"Carter, are you serious? Or is this some kind of joke?"

"Yes, sir," she said.

O'Neill paused again, having muddied the circumstances of the call all by himself. "Yes, you're serious, or yes, this is a joke?"

"The sooner you make the call the better, sir."

"Okay, you're serious," O'Neill surmised. "Give me twenty and I'll have it handled. Then you fill me in, and that's an order."

"Affirmative, Colonel."

She snapped the phone shut, ending the call. Garner's attitude remained until ten minutes later, when his own cell phone rang. Carter watched as he nearly came to attention to the voice on the other end. He turned slightly but eyed Carter out of the corner of his eyes.

After a series of "yes, sir," and "I know, but . . .", he, too, ended his call.

The attitude was still there, but it was dialed down a notch. "You want that report in triplicate or email, Major?"

"Whatever's easiest for you, Sergeant," she said, not backing down to his posturing.

Rachel emerged from the trauma room. Her face was drawn and stressed. Sandoval followed her.

"We're taking her up to ICU now," he announced. "It's going to be a long night. If you'll leave your contact information at the nurse's station, they'll call you if anything happens." Then he addressed Rachel directly. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Rachel nodded solemnly and looked back into the trauma room at Bainbridge's unmoving form.

"Thank you, Doctor," Carter said. "We'll do that."

Sandoval meandered down the hall to another patient.

"Sergeant," Carter said, "I need to see the crime scene. I'll need you to inform your officers and detectives we're on our way."

"Sure," he said. He picked up his cell phone and made the call like a good cop should.

Sam led Rachel to a series of chairs along the wall and helped her to sit. Dekker's skin looked pale and shocked, having fully seen the damage inflicted on Bainbridge. Sam got a cup of water from a nearby water fountain.

"You all right?" she asked, handing the cup to Rachel.

The slight tremor in Dekker's hand as she took hold of the cup indicated that she was far from all right.

"I'll be fine," Rachel said with a slightly quiver in her voice.

They watched as the gurney, with all its attached medical equipment, was carefully moved down the hall. Ellen Bainbridge disappeared from sight around a corner.

"We're going to find who did this," Sam vowed.

Rachel sipped from the cone cup. "Damned right we are," she said icily.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: As usual, these chapters are unedited and subject to tweaking later on when I'm a little more coherent. 4 a.m. is not the time to be looking for grammatical mistakes...**

**Chapter 10**

The street was filled with police cars and investigative vehicles. The cul-de-sac was awash in flashing strobes of red and blue as police combed the entire area for clues to Ellen Bainbridge's assailant. Sam pulled ahead slowly until a uniformed officer manning a barricade of police tape and traffic barriers halted her. He held up his hand for her to stop. The flashing lights lit his face at odd angles, giving him a macabre appearance.

"Ma'am," he said, nodding. "Can I help you?"

Her identification badge was beginning to get a solid workout on the night. Sam showed him her credentials.

"Major Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. Detective Garner was supposed to notify you we were on our way."

"That's right, ma'am," he confirmed. "Park over to the right, behind that van."

She saw where he was pointing. The police van was a crime scene investigation unit. The back doors were open, but no one was near it. She parked where the officer indicated once he raised the tape to let her through the barricade.

Rachel viewed the scene. "Dammit," she sighed."

"What?" Sam asked, not understanding the source of Rachel's annoyance. She turned off the engine, and they sat in the darkened SUV.

"The press is here," she said, pointing to reporters standing inside the perimeter of the barricade.

Sam looked over and saw the lights from the cameras illuminating very serious, dramatic reporters, letting their public know of the grim tragedy of the night.

"That was quick," Sam noted, surprised.

Rachel craned her neck against the headrest and closed her eyes. "This night can't get any worse."

Carter knew it could in every way, and the simplest way was for Rachel to see the gore inside the house that was probably everywhere, given the extent of the injuries they witnessed in the ER. Sam had seen what happened with even the most superficial of wounds to the head. They tended to bleed a lot, and it tended to look a lot worse than it really was. Ellen Bainbridge, however, had suffered severe trauma. Judging by the extent of her injuries and Sam's own battle experiences, the likelihood of a massacre seemed assured.

"You sure you're up to this?" she asked cautiously, not as one who has seen plenty of gore in her work at the SGC, but as a friend who knew the ramifications might be too much for Dekker to bear.

"No," Rachel answered, sitting up straight and opening her eyes, "but there are plenty of things in my life I haven't been up for and still had to do anyway. Ellen works for me, and I know it may sound crass and unfeeling, but she works on high-level projects. My – our company," she corrected, "can't afford to have Starsky and Hutch demanding documents and evidence."

Sam knew better. "Is that it?"

Rachel looked out the passenger window. "No," she said again, this time more quietly. "She's a good person, and she's been like a surrogate mother to Holleran. She's taken care of him during some rough times, times when I should have been there after our mother died. I owe her this, Sam."

"And let's not forget that you're pissed."

"That's putting it mildly," Rachel said with a humorless laugh.

"Okay," Sam said, "so that's why I'm thinking you need to let me do the talking when we get in there. The fewer waves we make, the better."

"And if playing nice doesn't work?" Rachel asked, looking to Sam once more.

Sam took a deep breath and let it out sharply. "And if that doesn't work, I'll seal the entire house off and call in our own people. Either way, we're going to get to the bottom of this. I promise you that."

Rachel nodded in agreement. They exited the SUV and headed toward the house, enduring looks from several officers who watched their approach. When they got to the porch of the house, they were once again stopped by another uniform. Carter was not sure what Colonel O'Neill had said to Garner's supervisors, but it must have been a very effective tirade. They were allowed to pass without argument.

The inside of the house was lit brightly as technicians scoured for evidence. A detective in the corner kept glancing over at Sam, obviously curious about her presence. Rachel stood frozen, surveying the scene. It all seemed okay, but there was a distinct concentration of technicians in the kitchen. Some worked near the patio door, dusting its surface with silver nitrate to bring out any potential prints that may have been left there by the intruder. Flashes of light popped off in the kitchen area as evidence photos were captured for the record. Quiet murmurs of conversation relayed observations between one investigator and another.

The detective standing watch over the investigation finally approached Carter and Dekker. Carter immediately took notice of the killer smile, the dark eyes and the perfect physique, though she suspected right away that he never realized he looked as good as he did. He did not resemble a cop. Rather, he looked more like a magazine model that should have been sporting red flannel and hawking camp gear. He was tall, with a chin that was rugged and squared, cleanly shaven. He smiled at them, and his demeanor was much more easy going than Garner's had been. He held out his hand to Sam.

"You must be Major Carter. I'm Jason Shaugnessy, detective in charge of the scene."

Sam returned the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Detective. This is Rachel Dekker. Ellen Bainbridge works for her at Prime Power."

"Ma'am," he said with a nod. "I'm very sorry about all this. If there's anything you need, please let us know."

"You can start by giving us a rundown of what you have so far," Rachel said, a slight edge to her voice that Carter wished was not there.

Shaugnessy weathered her attitude with professionalism. "Of course," he said. "We think the intruder came through the patio door," he said, pointing at the glass double doors that were being dusted for prints. He turned in a circular motion. "We're trying to piece the rest together, but it seems like the entire assault was confined to the kitchen area. We have found some trace evidence in the living room, right by the fireplace, but we'll have to wait for testing before we can get any type of profile on it.

"Over there," he continued, pointing toward the kitchen, "is where the bulk of it all took place. We're still photographing in there, so we'll have to hold off before I can show you any of it."

Carter looked around the room. "Detective Garner said nothing looks like it was taken. Is that true?"

"So far as we can tell," Shaugnessy said with a sigh. "To be honest, we don't know what we're looking for in terms of what should and shouldn't be here. If you could help shed some light on that, we'd be grateful."

"I don't mean to make things more difficult for you," Carter said, "but we're dealing with a highly classified situation here."

"Look, I'm just trying to do my job," Shaugnessy said in defense, though it was more of a plea than a bite.

"I know," Sam said, "so that's why I'm asking that you let us take it from here. Have your people finish up cataloging the evidence and clear out. It'll make things easier."

Shaugnessy smiled that killer smile again, though this time, it was laced with irony. "You do realize a crime has been committed, right? I mean, this is kind of sort of what we do for a living."

"And I kind of sort of work for the federal government. I'm asking you to cooperate with us on this, before it gets taken out of your hands entirely."

Sam's petition bordered on a lie. The government was going to seize all the records from the case in a matter of hours, if protocol was followed. Then, NSA or CIA agents would be on the scene, doing their own poking and prodding for answers, completely eliminating the local police force. Once the agencies moved in, there would be no way to take a look at the crime scene with fresh eyes.

Shaugnessy sized up Carter and gave a chuckle. "I've never heard it put so diplomatically. When can I expect the suits to start showing up?"

Sam could not help but smile. "You've seen this routine before?"

"I was CID in the Air Force," he said. "I've seen my share of government investigations. I tried explaining that to Garner, but he's old school and not very receptive to the idea."

Carter found comfort in the fact. "Then you'll understand when we get picky about things."

"You tell me what you want, and I'll do my best to give it to you, Major."

"I need these people cleared out of here as soon as possible. And I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind."

"Sure," Shaugnessy said. "The living room and the study have been cleared. You can start there. I'll get them wrapped up in the kitchen and let you know when you're free to looking there."

She held out her hand. "I appreciate it." As she turned toward the study she stopped and called out to Shaugnessy again. "Detective, can we get some gloves, please?"

"Sure thing," he said, returning. He pulled two pairs of latex gloves from his back pocket and handed them to Sam.

"Thanks," she said.

"Thanks for thinking to wear some," he said.

Shaugnessy shuffled off toward the kitchen. Sam heard him as he began instructing the photographers to finish their work. She and Rachel stood in the living room and surveyed the scene. Aside from the technicians at the patio door, everything looked untouched. Nothing had been disturbed or overturned. No drawers were open, knickknacks remained in place on the shelves. There were no signs anything even took place in the living room except for it being a point of entry into the house.

"See anything that jumps out at you?" Sam asked Rachel, pulling on the gloves.

Rachel did the same and looked around the room again. "Nothing. It's like I've always known it."

"We'll come back in here once they're done at the door. Let's go check the study and see if there's anything in there."

They moved to the study off to the right of the fireplace. The room was neat and in order. No signs of struggle there, either. Sam was surprised to see the research equipment in there. She had taken work home, herself, on many occasions, but it had always been in the form of paperwork. Bainbridge apparently did more in her off hours than most.

Sam looked around at the shelves that had been lined with ships in bottles. They had been lovingly placed there, each dusted and pristine. The work on the ships was meticulous. The hours spent making them must have been with a passion for the art.

"Wow," Sam said. "I wouldn't have pegged her for the model builder."

"She's not," Rachel said, walking over to the large desk on the far side of the room. "Her husband used to make them."

"Divorced?"

"Widowed. Stewart and she did a lot of work together. Reminded me of Ronin in a lot of ways. Ellen came to work for me shortly after he died. I don't think she ever recovered from losing him."

On the desk, Sam spotted a picture of Ellen and a man, posing for the camera in a loving embrace. She did not touch it.

"This him?"

Rachel looked over at it. "Yeah. He was really funny. Always had a joke to tell."

"You knew him?"

"Briefly. He did some contract work for my father, which is how I met Ellen."

"I see." Sam looked around the room, her hands in her pockets to curb the urge to touch anything. "Anything look out of place to you in here?"

Rachel looked frustrated. "Hard to say. This is only the second time I've ever been in here. She showed it to me once for my approval for her to do work at home, but that was it. I approved it and trusted her."

"It doesn't looked like anyone searched around in here for anything," Sam noted.

Then her eye caught the microscope on the desk. Slide fluids and supplies surrounded it. She walked over to it, hands still in pockets and leaned down for a closer looked. The light on the stage was turned on, something that stood out to her like a beacon.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah?" Rachel said, distant and looking at something on the other side of the room.

"Ellen's pretty thorough in her research, right? Good lab practices?"

Rachel snorted. "Anal about it, actually."

"So why would she leave the stage light on?"

The question caught Rachel's attention. She walked over and looked down at the microscope. "She has a pattern when she looks at things. She's always complaining about the lab staff's habits, and she's gone ballistic over equipment being left on when it's not being used."

Sam straightened. "She was looking at something, but there are no slides laying around, nothing prepared," she said, taking notice of the items on the desk.

Rachel spun around the room, looking nervous, as if having had a revelation.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"Her briefcase. It's not here."

"Maybe it's in another room," Sam offered.

"No," Rachel said, shaking her head. "It would be in here. She secured everything in here."

"Okay," Sam said, putting a hand on Rachel's arm to calm her. "Maybe they took it as evidence." She walked over to the door. "Detective Shaugnessy?" she called.

Shaugnessy discontinued his conversation with the photographers and came to the doorway of the study. "Major?"

"Was anything taken into evidence from this room?"

He shrugged. "As far as we could see, there was nothing to inventory."

"What about a briefcase? Any of your people take that into evidence by any chance?"

"Nope. I've been here since the beginning. No one's picked up a briefcase as far as I know."

The information gave Sam alarm. "Can you check with your people and confirm that?"

"Sure," he said, obligingly. He turned to do ask she asked.

Sam returned to where Rachel was standing at the desk. "Do you know what she was working on that would cause her to bring work home with her?"

"Sam, she's my top researcher," Rachel said, frustrated. "She's got a hand in just about every project. It could be one of a hundred things, or it could be something she was planning on presenting as a new project. She was doing that a lot. She'd work on her own time and bring in these amazing new ideas that were groundbreaking. I guess a lot of that probably came out of this room."

"And there's no chance she forgot her briefcase at work?"

"No, no way," Rachel said confidently. "That damned thing is practically an extension of her body. She never leaves work without it."

Shaugnessy returned to the doorway. "Major, no one has seen a briefcase. If it was here, we didn't take it."

He looked like he was waiting for the punch line, for Carter to say that it was something that should be of concern to him. She gave him no satisfaction.

"Thank you, Detective," she said in a tone that told him he was dismissed. His military training was still strong enough to let him take the hint as he walked back toward the kitchen.

Rachel began checking through drawers in the desk, coming up with nothing significant. The drawers were unlocked, giving Sam pause. If the room was so secure and so important to Ellen's work, then she doubted the desk drawers would be unlocked.

"Look," Sam said, "give your security guys a call at the lab and have them search for the briefcase, just to be sure."

Rachel gave a look of annoyance but opened her cell phone to appease Carter. She explained what she wanted to the guard on duty and snapped the phone shut when she was finished.

"Is there anywhere else Ellen would have kept confidential information other than this room?" Sam asked.

Rachel's eyes remained downward at the desk. "I have no idea. As far as I ever knew, this room was it."

Sam looked out the door and saw the evidence technicians beginning to clear out of the kitchen. She viewed as much of the scene as she knew it so far. Nothing was touched. Everything was in order, except for the light on the microscope. Whatever Ellen was working on was not in the study or the living room. Otherwise, there would have been signs of chaos there. It was all in order and undisturbed.

"I'm going to check the kitchen. Why don't you wait here?" Sam said.

"No," Rachel said, running her hand through her hair and regaining her composure. "I'm in it for the long haul, Sam. I might see something you might overlook."

"Okay," Sam said, conceding.

They waited until all the technicians had cleared out and only Shaugnessy was left. He met them in the living room, stopping them before they entered the kitchen.

"No offense, but you sure you're okay to go in there?" he asked them. "It's pretty red."

"We'll be fine," Sam assured, though she shared his concern when it came to Rachel seeing the aftermath of the attack. "If you'll just close the door after you, I'll let you know when we're finished in here."

"Sure," he said, though the disappointment of being excluded from their search was evident on his face. He walked away from them and took the two short steps toward the foyer.

"Detective," Sam called.

He stopped and turned to them.

"Thanks for your concern," she said, and really meant it.

He smiled that killer smile again and gave a nod. "Sure thing."

Sam took the lead on the walk toward the kitchen. Rachel followed closely behind her, eager to get the moment over with and to move on with their search.

The location of the attack was unmistakable against the pristine white walls and counters in the kitchen. Ellen had been pressed into a corner of the kitchen, where she was struck so many times that blood spatters on the wall streaked upward in a fireworks like pattern. A bloody smear on the wall showed her struggle to reach the phone to make the call for help. A pool of blood on the floor was flush against the base of the counter where the sink was. Bloody footprints marred the cream colored floor where emergency personnel had entered to find and take care of her.

Medical waste was still on the floor where EMTs had tried to stabilize her for the rushed trip to Mercy General. Sam's mind put the clues in motion, the darkened blood evidence telling the story of the assault. Bainbridge had been cornered like an animal and mercilessly beaten. Sam looked at the trail of blood spatters on the counters and floor. She followed them back toward the entrance to the kitchen, where some tiny flecks were visible on the half wall separating the area from the living room.

"She was hit around here first," Sam said, pointing to the smaller blood stains on the wall.

Rachel walked over to where Sam was and looked out into the living room. "Why would she be over here if the phone is on the back wall? If she saw the guy coming, wouldn't she have made a run for it?"

"Maybe she didn't have time," Sam said, pondering. "Question is, what was she doing when she was attacked?"

Sam carefully stepped over toward the food cupboards, avoiding thicker spots of blood on the floor. She opened the doors and peered inside the cabinet.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.

"What NID is going to do when they get a hold of this place. I'm looking in all the weird places someone might hide something important."

With that, Sam began to carefully search inside the cabinet, pushing aside cans and boxes. She searched to the back wall with no results. No boxes were open, no false cans with removable lids were found. She pulled out each item one at a time for Rachel to examine more closely, but the initial results did not change. Finally, the bottom shelf was completely empty, and none of it contents revealed a secret.

Rachel's frustration mounted. "You have any success with this method of tearing food cupboards apart?"

"You'd be surprised," Sam said without elaborating.

She felt around the empty shelf, knocking on the panels and pushing against them, hoping for a hidden panel. It was all of solid construction. Sam's heaved a sigh, her hand dropping down on the shelf, itself. Her fingers slid down the back wall and became wedged in a crevice she could not see from her vantage. She quickly pulled over a chair and stepped up on it for a better look, actually putting her head inside the cabinet.

"What?" Rachel asked, seeing the bizarre behavior.

Sam felt down into the crevice and came across was felt like cardboard. She followed the spine of the object until she could lever it up and out of the hole. She brought the notebook carefully out of the cabinet and showed it to Rachel.

"Bingo," Sam said.

Rachel shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew to look there."

"Lucky guess," she said, turning the notebook right side up. "If I didn't find anything there, I was going to try the freezer next."

Sam put the book on the table and opened it to the first page. The data in it was completely handwritten, with personal notes and thoughts.

"These are projects we've been working on," Rachel said, reading the book. "These must be here home research notes."

"That would explain why it's hidden so well," Sam said, seeing schematics that ranged from electronic to biological.

Rachel turned the pages. Nothing revealing was on the first few. Like Ellen's house and research area, everything was tidy and neat and orderly. The last page in the book, though, was a mass of scribbles and speculation. Where the other projects in the book dealt with things Ellen was currently working on, the last entry concerned the MALP.

"What the hell is she doing worrying about the MALP?" Rachel wondered aloud. "She doesn't even work on it. Didn't want any part of it when I offered it to her."

The notes were hastily written and hard to follow.

"Can you tell what any of this means?" Sam asked.

"No," Rachel said. "She's done this for as long as I've known her. The only one who might be able to decipher all this is Holleran. I know she's shown him some of her private work. Maybe he picked up on her system."

Sam turned the last page over to check the back for any additional notes. She pointed to a lone line written in the margin that had a double underscore, emphasizing its meaning, followed by a question mark.

"What does 'chimera' mean?" Sam asked, pointing at the word.

Rachel straightened in alarm. Her face dropped.

"Rachel?" Sam said with concern.

Rachel's hand went to her mouth, as if to stifle a sound.

"It means," she said finally, standing amid the blood that had come from Ellen Bainbridge, "that Prime Power has been compromised."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Rachel sat silently gazing out the window of the SUV as Sam drove toward Prime. She had contacted the security supervisor at Prime and had ordered him to lock down the entire facility, including the home offices. Sam could only imagine that to lock down the Malt Shop had to be akin to a Wildfire in Cheyenne. She envisioned heavy doors closing, armed guards rising to the occasion, and the general sense of tension that was felt in any high security facility that feared being compromised.

She glanced over at Rachel, annoyed to some degree by her silence on the matter.

"You want to let me in on what you're thinking?" Sam asked.

"I'm thinking this is not looking good for any future contracts for the company. I'm thinking," she said, "that Ellen should have come to me with this sooner if she suspected infiltration."

"Any idea why she wouldn't?"

Rachel shrugged. "She's thorough. According to what we could see in her notes, she wasn't sure if there was a real need for lockdown."

"Someone beat the hell out of her tonight," Sam said simply. "I'd say that's pretty good supporting evidence."

Sam's cell phone rang. Its loud chirp startled both of them.

"Carter."

"You're having a busy night," O'Neill said casually.

"Yes, sir," she said. She noticed Rachel look over in curiosity.

"Give me the rundown, Major."

"I'm still piecing together the details, sir. Ellen Bainbridge, one of Prime's top researchers, was beaten up pretty severely at home tonight. Police don't have a suspect, but we found some things that may or may not be cause for alarm at this point."

She knew the impending reaction. Sam could just see the raised eyebrows, the sarcastic look on his face. There was a brief pause before O'Neill spoke again.

"Such as?"

"I'm on my way to check it out now. I'm going to have to get back to you on what I find, Colonel."

Now it was Rachel's turn to raise a brow. "O'Neill?" she silently mouthed.

"Carter," O'Neill said in his unique warning voice, "need I remind you there are a lot of eyes on Prime right now?"

"Understood, sir." Sam reached over and rolled down the window. She stuck the phone into the solid stream of air produced by traveling the freeway's speed limit. Then she snapped the phone closed.

Rachel's surprised was evident. "Did you just hang up on a full bird colonel?"

Carter was feeling impatient. Her foot pressed into the accelerator a little more. "Look, we need to get some answers before I get pressed by the SGC or the Pentagon. And you need to start being straight with me."

"Straight about what?"

Sam decided to tackle the issue head-on. "Did you pull my files?"

"Did I what?" Rachel responded, seemingly shocked.

"Someone pulled just about every file on me, including my sealed records from the SGC. I need to know if that was you."

Rachel gave a moment of consideration and relented. "I'll admit I did some inquiries with some people on the inside," she admitted, an ironic grin on her face, "but pull your files? Why the hell would I need to do that when I have direct lines of information?"

"The Pentagon has it that someone at Prime pulled my files. You're topping the list of suspects. Give me one good reason I should believe it wasn't you."

"Because we've known each other a long time, Sam," Rachel said defensively. "If I wanted to know that much about you, I'd just ask you directly. I don't need to go sneaking around yanking service records. When I want an answer, I get it - all by myself."

Rachel was right. The woman got what she wanted in life by getting it on her own. She relied on no one, which had made her a captain of industry. She had attained the position she had not by the fact that she was the daughter of a phenomenally successful military contractor but that she was well suited to handle its challenges. She was a pit bull when it came to her projects, and for good reason. She wanted to be successful, and she always had been as far as Sam knew.

Sam had no intention of backing down, though. "If not you, then who?" she pressed.

"How the hell should I know?" Rachel said in a raised voice.

"There are a finite number of people working for you. Who would benefit the most from it?"

"That's a little hard to say, since I don't know why someone would want to know every detail down to your bra size. I mean, you're only this huge repository of alien information. I can think of a whole hell of a lot of people, and not all of them on the inside of Prime, who would love to dissect you like a bug and see what you know."

"I've been that route," Carter said lightly. "You need to start giving me answers, Rachel. I'm getting backed against the wall, and I don't like it."

Rachel backed down at Sam's ire. "Tell me what you want, Carter, and I'll do whatever it takes to give it to you."

"The first thing we're going to do is find out who was making the inquiries. I need access to your corporate data."

Rachel held up an objecting finger. "Except that."

"Rachel," Carter warned.

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to let you waltz through the company's financial data. I have enough agency regulators breathing down my neck all day. I don't need you giving the Pentagon more ammunition."

Carter chuckled. "Trust me – they don't need much."

Aside from the fact that the Pentagon was a culmination of not just military but of other entities in the government, its pool of resources was almost endless. It had the authority to do whatever it deemed necessary to protect the security of the United States and its allies. In the case of Stargate Command, the mission changed to include the security of the entire planet.

"The MALP program is our bread and butter. I've busted my ass to keep that contract, and I don't intend to let it go any time soon," Rachel vowed.

"If it's so important, why wasn't Doctor Bainbridge working on it?" Carter asked, pressing the issue as much as she could.

"It isn't her kind of project. It was a moneymaker to her, which isn't why she's in the business. She's a hell of a researcher, Sam. The MALP is a tinker toy in her eyes. She doesn't get a thrill out of adding robots to a rolling box. She's always been on the cutting edge, and the MALP just isn't there for her."

Carter pursued the line of questioning. "If not for her, then who?"

Rachel shook her head. "A dozen people at any time. Depends on what we're adding or fixing. It's not like one person fixes the damned things when you send them back in pieces. There's a lot going on in them."

"We have to start looking at those twelve when we get to Prime."

"I'm not going to let you or anyone else rake them over the coals. They're loyal to the corporation and me. They work hours a hooker couldn't live on just to get the job done on time, and all to make sure the SGC teams don't step into a pile of crap on the other side of the gate."

Carter could not believe Rachel's defense of the situation. "Someone put Bainbridge in a coma tonight. I'd think you'd want to investigate everyone who might be involved."

"Sam, I'm all for the truth. I want to know who hurt her, yes. But I can't allow others who are innocent be subjected to a Pentagon investigation. They've earned that protection. I would have thought you'd understand that."

"You're not leaving me many choices," Sam said, frustrated.

"I'm going to meet you halfway on this," Rachel bargained. "I'll let you look at the data you want, but I'm not going to open the doors and let every halfwit CID guy come into the most secure commercial military production facility and poke around. It's just not going to happen."

Sam was silent, driving just a little faster in frustration. "What are you afraid of people seeing, Rachel?" she asked quietly.

Rachel slouched down in the seat a little, weariness overcoming her. "This is not a pretty industry, Sam," she said. "Playing strictly by the rules doesn't get you contracts, nor does it put you ahead of the other guy. We don't wave the flag and build weapons. We wave a piece of paper and ask the government to sign on the dotted line. Sometimes, that involves incentives that go outside the ethical curve you swear by in the SGC."

"Kickbacks?" Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

"In one form or another. If you don't think everyone does it, then you're naïve about the real world. Nobody gets multimillion dollar contracts without greasing the slide a little."

"Let me guess – the list of names is distinguished?"

"If they were revealed, I'd be taken off their Christmas card list, for sure."

The list of suspects opened up exponentially with Rachel's revelation. Sam's mind reeled with the possibilities. It was possible Bainbridge had threatened to expose one of the kickback recipients. Perhaps she was preparing to turn evidence over to the Pentagon or some investigative agency and discovered a mole inside Prime.

Sam's mind weighed the possibilities the rest of the ride to Prime while Rachel stared out the window, lost in thought. The streets became more and more deserted as they snaked through the lower income sections of town. Prime loomed like a hulking dead monster, illuminated by a minimum number of lights to give it the look of a place that had long since been abandoned. It made no difference. Sam suspected Prime's guards enjoyed full nightvision technology that allowed them to see as if it were day in order to protect company assets.

The parking lot had a few cars in it, not surprising since Rachel had ordered the lockdown when only a minimal number of employees would have been on staff in the facility. Sam's eyes scanned the lot, spotting three guards in the dim shadows of the building. She felt her training kick in to gear, looking at possible areas of ambush. The night temperature was dropping, and cold dew was forming on the cars in the lot, giving them a frosty winter look. The late hour cast an eerie feeling over the lonely parking lot, with its sparse sodium lights humming steadily for two in the morning. Her first instinct was to draw her weapon for defense until she realized she was not carrying one. Her departure from the SGC had vacated her right and even need for one in the real world. She no longer enjoyed some of the practices that were commonplace when working in the world's most secure facility.

Sam's eyes peered into the darkness again, looking for more targets. She assumed the shadows belonged to Prime's security team, but she also knew nothing was to be taken for granted. It would not have been the first time infiltration had taken place, putting one of the team in harm's way. She was out of the protection and auspices of the SGC. Being associated with Prime made her all the more a target for any agency that had been lying in wait for its moment to strike.

Sam noticed Rachel peering out into the darkness, too. Although she had been a scientist for the Air Force, she was an airman first, trained assume everything was a dangerous situation. Basic training taught its recruits to be aware of their surroundings. There was every reason to assume the current situation was dangerous.

"Yours?" Sam asked, pointing to one of the shadows in the corner.

Rachel zoned in on the area. "They're in standard deployment for the code."

"Set to stun or kill?"

"They're not going to mow us down when we get out of the car. Just don't deviate going to the entrance. We'll be met at the door."

"Then what – a full cavity search?" The words were out of Sam's mouth before her self-discipline could react.

Rachel glanced at Sam and shook her head in dismay. "You've definitely been hanging around Jack O'Neill too long."

Sam would have given anything at that moment to still be hanging out with him. She missed the SGC and her work there. She missed the camaraderie and the clear mission they shared, even though the lines between the participants sometimes became muddied. She had a new mission, though – one that was very important, even if she did not want to believe the implications.

She got out of the SUV, closing door with less force than she would normally have used in an effort to quell the sound. The walk to the security door seemed to take forever. Sam's eyes darted from one dark shadow to the next, sometimes losing her mark on them when she passed under a sodium light. When the doors to Prime were finally in reach, she grabbed the handle and yanked it open, glad to be inside the building.

Rachel followed close behind her. The sound of the heavy door sealing brought relief to both of them. Mitchell was waiting for them at the security desk. His face was hard with stress.

"Doctor Dekker," he greeted, though there was no cheer in his voice.

"Mitchell," Rachel said, "are all protocols active?"

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "We secured the building at zero-one-fifty-six. No one's been in or out except the perimeter security team."

She approached the desk. "You have the roster of personnel?"

He handed her a sheet of paper on command. "Minimal compliment tonight. No one's here who shouldn't be."

She studied the paper. "When did Doctor Bainbridge leave tonight?"

He checked a log behind the desk. "I show her checked out at twenty-one-sixteen."

"She was alone?" Sam asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed solidly.

Rachel beat Sam to the next question.

"Mitchell, did she have her briefcase when she left?"

He nodded. "I pulled the security video. She definitely had it when she left, Doctor."

Sam saw Rachel tense at the information.

"We'll be in the lab area," Rachel told him. "The lockdown remains in effect until you hear from me. Understood?"

"Understood," Mitchell said. "I'll let the tenth know you're on your way."

"Good," Dekker said. "Major Carter and I are bypassing the checkpoints tonight on my authorization. Clear the major for all-access."

Rachel began to walk toward the elevator when she turned one last time to Mitchell. "Lock that door down. No one in or out until you hear otherwise. Anyone tries to come through it, take whatever measures you feel necessary."

"Affirmative," he answered.

Rachel and Sam entered the elevator. Archie complied with the command to descend to the tenth floor. Their descent was a silent one. When they exited, they encountered the second security checkpoint and walked by it with only a nod from its guard. Mitchell had apparently relayed the orders for the night to the guards on duty.

The lab area was quiet. Three cubicles had their lights on, giving a lonely glow to a usually bustling lab. The MALP terrain room was lit, the main source of illumination in the lab. Just over the sill of the windows looking into the room, Sam saw a blonde head hunkered down at the MALP control panel and recognized the person immediately as Holleran.

"Your brother is working late tonight," she commented to Rachel.

"Not unusual. The VR simulations he needs to run take up a lot of CPU. The other researchers get cranky if he runs his programs during peak hours," Rachel said, turning toward the MALP room. She stood at the panel of windows. "I need to tell him what happened."

"He doesn't know?"

Rachel shook her head. "Once the protocol is in place, all communications from lab areas are blocked. I don't want him hearing it from anyone else. He's very close to Ellen."

She opened the door to the terrain room. The smell of foliage wafted into the outer area. Holleran was in his VR gear, eyes covered by goggles and his hands by gloves. He stirred from his work when he heard the door opening. He looked up at them once he removed his goggles.

"How's it going, Holleran?" Rachel asked.

"Okay," he said, slowly and carefully. His wariness was acute. "Why are you here? It's l-late."

Rachel leaned up against the MALP. "Holleran, there's something I need to tell you."

He said nothing in reply. He waited patiently for her to continue. Sam could see from the look on his face that he knew something was terribly wrong.

"Doctor Bainbridge was hurt tonight," Rachel began.

He gave her a quizzical look.

"Someone broke into her house and assaulted her. She's not doing so good."

Holleran's face dropped in shock. He looked to Sam for confirmation.

"Holleran," Sam said, "do you know who would want to hurt her?"

"No!" he answered in a near shout. His chin quivered slightly with the news, though he controlled his emotions. "C-can I see her?"

Rachel hesitated, and Sam could sense her pain in the answer she had to give. "We're in a lockdown. Until we can get some answers about tonight, you can't leave. No one can."

Again, Holleran's chin quivered, and his eyes filled to the brim with tears. Sam truly felt for him. She had sensed the connection between Holleran and Bainbridge the first time she had witnessed their interaction. Rachel reached out to him, caressing his face.

"As soon as we can end the lockdown, you can go see her," Rachel promised.

As much as Sam hated to break the moment between a brother and a sister, she knew the investigation had to press forward while the event was new. She walked to the other side of the MALP and stared down at it, completely at a loss for where to begin looking for evidence. Rachel saw the move.

"Holleran, Doctor Bainbridge was worried about the MALP project," Rachel said. "Do you know why?"

"No," he answered. He looked bewildered at the idea.

"Nothing out of the ordinary?" Rachel continued.

"No," he said again. "MALP's okay."

It was not the answer Sam wanted to hear. Rachel was not pleased at the dead end, either.

"Look," Rachel said, "Sam's going to look at some things with the new model. I want you to help her in any way you can, okay? I know you've done a lot of work on it, and you're the best one to help her get some answers."

Holleran looked at Sam. He nodded at her, though there was no enthusiasm. It was with a thin underlying suspicion that Sam was sure Rachel could not see. The notion was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"For now," Rachel continued, "Sam and I are going to check a few things in the lab and maybe catch some sleep. If you find anything, you wake me up. I don't care what time it is."

Holleran nodded his understanding. Rachel straightened from the MALP and ruffled Holleran's hair.

"Hang in there, kiddo," she said. "Say a prayer for her if you think about it, okay?"

Holleran looked down at the VR goggles in his hands, acknowledging her once more without a word.

Sam followed Rachel when she began walking toward the terrain room door. The lab was silent except for one cubicle where an old time radio show played quietly. She heard an advertisement for Blue Coal sound out in an otherwise quiet research area. She could not see the cube's occupant, and her sudden weariness outweighed her concern for who it was. She followed Rachel as she walked toward the back offices. The slight limp Sam had noticed initially with Rachel seemed more pronounced. Dekker appeared to work harder to get the leg to move forward to take the next step.

Rachel's office was pristine by any standard. Sam had expected something along the lines of stainless steel for décor, but she found it richly decorated in earthtone colors. Two leather couches took up most of the room. A large mahogany desk was clean and orderly. The subdued lighting gave the whole place a soothing atmosphere that was intoxicating the wake of bodily fatigue from the long day.

Without saying a word, Rachel went to the wet bar in the far corner of the room and opened a cabinet drawer. She pulled out a prescription bottle and shook out two pills, downing them with a glass of water from the tap.

Sam sat down on one of the couches. "You look sore," she commented.

Rachel put the glass in the sink and opened up the small refrigerator under the counter. She pulled out two bottles of beer. Her gait seemed even worse than it had been in the hallway.

She handed one bottle to Sam and sat down heavily on the other couch. "They rebuilt the leg but not all the nerves. They get torqued every now and again," she said, popping the cap on the bottle.

Sam did the same. "Pain meds?"

"Just enough to take the edge off. If I took what they wanted me to take, I couldn't function at the pace I do around here." Rachel rubbed at her tired eyes and laid her head on the back of the couch. Her eyes closed. "This is not what I had in mind when I decided to bring you on board."

Sam took a long sip of the beer. "I'd rather it be me than someone else."

Rachel straightened and looked at Sam. "You said the Pentagon had ammunition on me. Just how much are we talking? I mean, did I piss off some senator, or did I not kiss the right ass?"

"I don't have all of the information, but from what I know, they're paying attention to you. For that to happen to this degree, there has to be something significant."

"So, it's not just a matter of them thinking I peeked into your personnel file?"

"If I thought it was just that, I wouldn't have hung up on Colonel O'Neill."

Rachel was pensive. "You think he knows more than he's telling you?"

"No," Sam said confidently. "If he knew, he'd tell me."

"So, for all you know this is a fishing expedition, initiated by some DC watchdog into a powerful corporation?" Rachel snapped.

"Maybe," Sam conceded. "But you need to start trusting me. I have to look at the data if you want the answers."

"No offense," Rachel said with a laugh, "but there are some things I trust no one seeing, including you. Imagine if I told you I wanted to look through your technology reports. Wouldn't you be a little jaded at that?"

"That's a different situation."

"Is it? It's all classified – your stuff, my stuff. You take ownership of it, protecting it like a child. I did my time with the Air Force. I gave it everything I had in Washington. And in the middle of it all, I lost the only man I've ever loved. The only thing that's come close to replacing him is this place. I love what we do here. It's everything I've ever wanted to be in my life, and I'm going to do whatever I have to in order to protect it."

Sam took another swig of her beer, taking comfort in its taste. "Just don't lie to me. I can't help you if you do that."

"Does that door swing both ways?"

"You know I can't guarantee that. You're the one under investigation, not me."

Rachel smiled. "Always driving the hard bargain, Sam. No wonder you survived the perils of guy-oriented programs."

"I'm a team player, Rachel. I wasn't always that, either. I learned that I had to work with a team and trust my life to them."

"And now I'm supposed to do the same with the life of my company?"

"You can't do this on your own. You need to trust someone."

Rachel drank down a large swallow of beer. "Not in my usual repertoire, Sam, " she said with a casual laugh.

"I don't see you having many other choices."

Rachel stared down at her beer bottle, picking at the label. Then she opened the drawer to the end table and pulled out a pen and paper. She wrote down two lines of information and tossed the pad to Sam.

"Super user access to Archie," she said with lessening emotion. "From there, you can access any file in the company."

Sam looked down at the information. When she looked up again, Rachel had graduated to an even more dejected state.

"Thank you," Sam said.

"You can log in from your office or my desk or wherever. In about ten minutes, I'm going to be horizontal on this couch and have zero hospitality," Rachel warned. "The closet in your office has blankets and pillows," she continued in a disjointed train of thought.

Already Rachel's eyes were drooping with exhaustion and what Sam figured was the beginning effects of whatever medication had been mixed with the beer. Still, Rachel managed to down the last of the beer and put the bottle on the end table. It clanked on the glass-covered surface. Rachel's eyes closed again, and she put her head back against the couch. In less than a minute, Sam heard a gentle snore.

The closet in Rachel's office was indeed supplied with pillows and blankets. Sam quietly retrieved a set and went over to Rachel. She placed the pillow on the end of the couch. It was easy to coax the executive into a more horizontal position as the pain medication fully entrenched itself in Rachel's senses. Sam covered her with a blanket, looking down at her friend and feeling a confusion of compassion that mixed horribly with suspicion and maybe even resentment. They had been friends a long time. Each had spent time outdoing the other when they were assigned together, trying to up the ante for research goals and succeeding.

Sam wanted nothing more than to trust Rachel Dekker the way they had trusted one another in what seemed like an earlier lifetime. Rachel's work had been nothing but brilliant, and Sam strove to do the same. It had been a competition, one they enjoyed all the more once Ronin had become such an integral part of an untouchable woman's life. For all Rachel's prior indiscretions, no man had been able to break the emotional steel barrier that kept her from loving any one of them. Ronin's loss, Sam knew, had to have been devastating. It was no wonder Rachel was protective of Prime and its people. It was all she had left.

The office Prime had provided for Sam was more functional than elegant. It had one couch, which was fabric, not leather. The lighting was still subdued and comfortable. Sam looked at the high-backed office chair behind the desk and knew immediately she would not sit in it until the next morning. She was tired. Her eyes burned with irritation, and her skin had the slightest hint of tingling as she went straight for the closet to get her own blanket and pillow.

The fabric covered couch seemed more comfortable than the cold stiffness of the leather couches in Rachel's office. Sam gladly kicked off her shoes and curled into the cool cotton of the comforter, her head nestling down into the pillow. Her mind registered the steady sounds of the ventilation system. It was like a white noise that put her senses at ease. She reached into her jeans pocket and felt for the slip of paper that had Archie's access on it. It passed humorously through her mind that Rachel might request that the paper be eaten or destroyed in a ritual pyre to protect its contents.

Sam began drifting off into a deep sleep, letting go of the paper and turning until she was completely comfortable. Soon, the world turned to black as Prime Power disappeared from her consciousness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

**This is a painfully short chapter (sorry), but there is a reason. At least, I'm pretty sure there is . . .**

**Chapter 12**

Sam slept restlessly, waking after only a few hours of shuteye before her mind began processing the events of the previous evening. She finally rolled off the couch and sat up, looking around the office assigned to her at Prime's top-secret research facility. She was surprised to spot her suitcase sitting by the office door. It was disconcerting in so many ways, the thought of an invasion of her privacy. It was not like she had anything in there that was classified. Nor was there the idea that anyone had to pack up for her – she had not even unpacked before she was on the road to Prime with Rachel. Whoever had gotten her suitcase had an easy job of simply walking out the door of the hotel with it. Sam had no doubt Rachel had arranged for the delivery.

She should have been so lucky in the Air Force. She had her own bathroom, a posh little room that was stocked and had a shower. The decision to catch a quick shower was easy. It refreshed her enough to tackle her entry into Prime's huge database. Archie was accommodating. The fact that she could conduct queries by speech sped the process.

"Archie," she called out after making sure the office door was closed and locked.

She half-expected the computer's voice to resemble that of the cartoon character, but it responded in text on her computer screen.

"How may I help you, Major Carter?"

"I need to see Prime's secure files."

"Please input credentials," it responded.

Sam opened the folded sheaf of paper Rachel had given her the previous night. Using the keyboard, she entered the username and password. The screen went blank for a moment. Then, Archie responded an affirmative acceptance of the entry.

"Please state your query," Archie displayed.

"Show me recent ongoing transactions between Prime and government officials."

Archie's display began spewing line after line of data. The volume was overwhelming and barely readable.

"Stop display," she commanded. "Show recent ongoing transactions with special provisos between Prime and government officials," she said, refining her search.

There was a pause as Archie tried to process the request. "Define 'provisos'," it said.

Sam smiled with irony as the synonyms rolled off her lips. "Kickbacks, bonuses, payola, sweeteners," she supplied.

Again, Archie paused. She half expected the system to not understand the request, but then it began showing a very manageable list, one with abundant information Sam never dreamed she would be reading.

The list almost made her laugh in its detail. Most of the names were not surprising. Many were ones that made perfect sense, although there would have been a sweet revenge to have an investigation launched on them. Senators, corporate leaders, researchers, various officials – they were all sweetening the pot for Prime Power. None, though, presented anything more than a one-way door for the company to thrive. The kickbacks were unethical, but nothing screamed "danger" in any way. Almost all those listed were paid off in the form of luxury items. Boats, planes, and land were the main prizes. There was no evidence of a transaction where a beneficiary received inside technology as produced by the Stargate program. As far as Sam could see, the services provided by the recipients were in terms of paving the way for Prime to thrive in a bureaucratic world. It was as Rachel had said, that Prime had protected the Stargate program's interests with gusto. The outcome was unexpected. Sam thought there were would be more impropriety on the part of Prime, but there were no signs of scandal other than allocating money for "entertainment purposes" to butter up influential resources. After two hours, she concluded the avenue of the search was a dead end. It was time to look closer to home.

"Show me the primary researchers working on the MALP project," she commanded.

The first face she saw was not surprising. Holleran Dekker was the lead interface engineer in charge of reconditioning and developing the communication systems for the MALP. Sam's curiosity got the better of her. The fact that Rachel had a brother was intriguing enough. She and Sam had been friends for a long time, but there had never been a mention of a sibling. Sam began reading every line of his biography and employment history, wanting to know more.

His work in virtual reality was unprecedented. Educationally, he had been a prodigy, entering graduate work in college when most people were still figuring out what they wanted to be when they grew up in high school. His childhood had been a myriad of accomplishments that were in line with some of the best researchers Sam had ever known. It was at MIT where he developed his best VR work. From there, Rachel had brought him into the fold at Prime, stealing him from any other prospective employers. His entire biography read like a cheerleader for Prime Power. He was a team player whose skills were top notch.

Many of the other bios Sam read were similar. The scientists who were a part of the MALP project were exemplary minds, contributing their best knowledge to the Stargate project, just like Holleran. The idea that Rachel employed the best of the best was glaring and clear. They had all been plucked from the grasp of what appeared to be dream jobs outside Prime. Prime was where it was all happening.

One of the biographies contained an extra search option. Newton Vineland, lead communications designer, was assigned to the MALP's transmission system design. She read through his biography, impressed with his accomplishments, and almost closed the file when a small icon in the bottom caught her eye. She queried Archie of its meaning.

"Classified level seven personnel information," it responded.

"Open it," she said, feeling a thread of excitement for the first time since opening the files. It had been a boring run through egghead biographies, as O'Neill would have put it. Vineland presented a change in pace and perhaps a little intrigue.

Archie displayed his biography. A communications engineer, Vineland was responsible for MALP communications through the wormhole and back to the controller. His work had been exceptional, but the level seven information presented a different side of him. Carter read with ensuing interest as his criminal record was put on display for her consumption. His juvenile rap sheet was long and distinguished, but it was his adult habits that were a myriad of the directions he had taken in his life. If he had not been labeled by the justice system, he might have been considered a child prodigy at the tender age of ten. His penchant for theft and violence reared its ugly head at around that same time, marking him and putting him on the court's radar.

His psychological evaluation was page after page of interviews that showed how enraged he was and illustrated how he had graduated to adult crimes. At first, it was more of the same – theft, simple assaults. Then his tastes changed. There was a muddied era on the timeline where he was tracked as a for-hire technician, doing work for whoever would pay. As part of his reward for his loyalty, he coveted anyone he wished for his own pleasures. It was his brilliance that kept him alive in some cases. He was not discerning when it came to employers. The Pentagon had utilized him more than once, and Prime had finally won his loyalties. In between those two contacts were a number of jobs with what were easily classified as enemy governments and entities.

Sam read each page of the file, more and more shocked by what she saw. Vineland was heinous in his crimes, most of them sexual and violent. He reminded her of the worst of the worst she had seen in her missions with SG1. His list of exploits was a timeline of short jail sentences, probation, and outright dismissal of the justice system's power to confine him. The fingerprint of intervention of secret national government agencies was all over his perpetual freedom. He was a predator who should have been locked away for good, or, in Sam's opinion, should have been eliminated all together, since that was the only way to ensure someone like Vineland could not hurt any others. His kind was making the galaxy a miserable, terrible place on some planets. His fate should have been no different than any other system lord except for the fact that the SGC and other Pentagon-support agencies relied on his expertise to a fault.

That got her to thinking if he was a suspect for having pulled her files. It was creepy at best if he was the one, but Sam also knew she could not arbitrarily accuse him of anything without proof. That would require additional searching. There would be no need to ask the SGC or O'Neill to pull information for her on Vineland. Archie's repository contained what Sam suspected was every piece of data available on him.

His company record was a rash of complaints filed against him by his coworkers for rude behavior and even minor threats. He lacked professionalism, was unabashedly sexist. It came as no surprise to Sam to see that Bainbridge had filed numerous insubordination complaints against him, resulting his demotion in Prime's infrastructure.

As Sam delved into his historical files, she could not get Vineland's face off her mind. It kept coming back to her – white male, forty-six, trim but paunchy in his later years. His blonde hair was meshing like camouflage with the white of age. His darker goatee was unnatural, as though he colored it to offset it from nature. It was his eyes, though, that were the worst. They were dark, piercing orbs that looking like they were probing, selecting prey whenever the mood suited him. Sam closed her eyes for a moment, her memories of Jolinar mingling with hers of every obsessive, violent being they had encountered. The stream of images was shocking and sustained. The door to Jolinar's travels opened ever so slightly, letting through some of the most profound of emotions of her former symbiote's life seep into the fore of her mind. It was a torrent of flashes and sensations that prickled Sam's skin with stress. Her heart rate increased as she was caught in the flood, unable to escape.

"You okay?"

The words stabbed through Sam like lightning, causing her to jump and nearly stand from her chair.

Rachel Dekker stood before the desk, looking down at her with concern.

Sam sat back, running a nervous hand through her tousled hair, the images still firing fresh in her mind.

"Yeah," she said shortly, not sure if she wanted to launch into any questions about Vineland. "I thought I locked the door?"

Rachel held up a key card. "I knocked, but there was no answer. I got worried."

Sam tried to regain her composure, but the emotional torment of seeing Newton Vineland's profile still shook her. Instead of letting it silence her, she used it to her advantage, playing off the feelings coursing through her.

"Who's Newton Vineland?" she asked, her voice surprisingly steady in her ears.

Rachel's stoic face was stony. Sam could practically see the spin-doctors in the executive's mind going to work.

"Lead communications engineer on the MALP," she answered simply, giving a stock description.

"He's a real boy scout," Sam said evenly.

Dekker did not relent. "If I didn't keep him hired here, he'd go to work for someone else. That someone else might not be a Pentagon favorite."

"I take it he and Bainbridge didn't get along?"

"She thinks he's a pig, and I'm not inclined to argue that."

"Maybe that's why she didn't want to work on the MALP project – because she was afraid of him?"

Rachel sat down across from Sam. "You're reading into things."

"Really?" Sam challenged. "He's got a record longer than War and Peace. He's been screwed up since he was a kid, but you're giving him house room."

"I'm supplying my country with the best minds it needs to make sure your Stargate program doesn't fold," Rachel countered. "No one ever asked me to make sure they were poster boys. If you ask half the powers that be at the Pentagon, they'll tell you they don't care. All they want is their product."

"I'm willing to bet Ellen Bainbridge cared last night around nine o'clock. Where was Vineland?"

"Not here," Rachel answered immediately.

It took a moment before it dawned on Sam what the swiftness of her answer meant. "You're worried he did it, aren't you?"

Rachel cradled her forehead in her hand, resting her elbow on the arm of the chair. "They never got along from day one," she confessed. "It was like babysitting some days. Their arguments would get so heated that I'd have to separate them."

"Anything physical?"

"Came close a few times. I even had Mitchell detain him once until he calmed down."

"Where is he now?"

Rachel looked somber. "I have people out looking for him. When they find him, they'll bring him here for questioning."

Sam looked away from Rachel, feeling a sudden and overwhelming sense of disappointment. She struggled to put it all in order.

"You're the one who asked to look at the files," Rachel said, as if hearing Sam's inner struggle. "I told you it wasn't going to be pretty."

Sam looked at Rachel again, seeing her friend in a new light. "Is this all just a matter of business to you?" she asked pointedly. "I mean, I know what you told me in Colorado, but you don't seem too worked up that Vineland may have put a woman Holleran views as his surrogate mother in a coma."

"It's more complex than that."

"Enlighten me, because I'm having a hard time putting this all into perspective."

Rachel smiled. "You know the stakes better than anyone, Sam. This is not a perfect world, and Prime is not a perfect company. Sometimes, you have to deal with a situation by compromising. Newton Vineland is the man who allows you to talk to your MALPs. He developed that language all by himself. I've got friends from MIT who'd sell their firstborn to have a tenth of his insight."

"You're justifying a monster."

"I'm giving the SGC what it needs to prevent a Goa'uld invasion. To do that, sometimes you have to make a pact with the devil. In Vineland's case, he brought his knowledge to Prime, and I kept his ass out of jail."

All at once, Sam regretted ever having taken on the assignment of looking into the inner workings of Prime. She was rapidly learning more than she ever wanted to know about a company upon which the SGC relied heavily. More than that, the revelations from Rachel Dekker were becoming painful and were evoking anger that was beginning to cloud Sam's common sense.

"We need to talk to him," Sam said.

Rachel looked more tired than ever. "He'll be brought here as soon as they find him."

"But do you think he did it?" Sam asked again, being as direct as possible.

Rachel smiled once more, seeing the angle of attack and successfully blocking it. "It's not going to change the status of his 'get out of jail free' card. I don't know how I'll handle him being around here, but he has Teflon skin. It's not going to stick to him, no matter how much you want it."

"This is not about what I want!" Sam shot back hotly. "He's hurting people, Rachel. We fight the Goa'uld because they do the same thing."

"You're convicting him without proof."

"Your own files on him say he's done it in the past. Those same files say he'll probably do it again."

Rachel rubbed at the corner of her eye to satisfy an itch. "I don't want to go Machiavellian on you, Carter" she said, slouching in the chair, "but Vineland's the best. He's a rat bastard, and he'll probably burn eternally in hell, but he's the best in his field. The Stargate program needs him."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The observers had been tasked to monitor all transmissions within the target and to report to the rest of the hierarchy. Subject 20192 was communicating with Subject 1. The contents of the communication were speculative, but Subject 1's behavior was vehement.

The observers had done massive studies on human behavior in order to understand the more random complexities versus expected or predetermined outcomes. This understanding was crucial in order for the hierarchy to be able to report back to The One. Probabilities and statistics had been compiled within the hierarchy, but no logical pattern could be discerned amid human behavior. The hierarchy had determined that the solution was to make its carrier perform needed tasks and functions. This had become a most invaluable decision when Subject 3 had nearly compromised the hierarchy's mission. It had become necessary to suppress Subject 2's natural interaction and simulate proper human responses in order to attain new information. Subject 3 was mobile and able to accomplish the task without detection.

Prime Power's computer system had provided the perfect information conduit for the hierarchy, allowing the observers to travel from subject to subject freely, entering and exiting each environment undetected as designed. The One would be pleased with the newly acquired information. The current subjects were exchanging details necessary to complete the mission. First and foremost, the hierarchy's mission was to fulfill the commands of The One. The task of observation had been accomplished on Day Zero of arrival. It was simply a matter of correlating data.

For the observers, the goal had been simple – to infiltrate the enemy's stronghold and gather crucial data to be returned to The One for use in battle. When the observers had capitalized on a number of opportunities already. Now, a new, more useful opportunity had revealed itself without any intervention. Subject 1 had been reclassified when it was determined to be a member of the enemy's stronghold, and had become available and was even a possible target for transport. According to calculations by the observers, the possibilities were endless.

Nonetheless, the observers were nearing the point of the need to return to The One and report the findings. The collected data was nearing capacity, and there was risk of discovery. Subject 2 had nearly compromised the mission, but it had been quelled in time. There was also the option of adding more observers, if necessary, from the current environment. However, it would take time to assimilate to the current collective.

The observers continued the task of collecting information. The hierarchy had determined at the onset that Subject 1 was the answer. Soon, it would be time to report to The One and announce that the mission had been accomplished.


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note: Well, this chapter isa bit sooner than I thought it would be for this post. Yay for me. Hopefully, this will clear up a bit of the "observer" confusion. However, please know - the reader is not meant to know who the subjects are and why. It was planned this way for a reason. Patience, Agustus, and "Not 'til you're twelve, son!"**

**Chapter 13 **

Newton Vineland's picture did not do seeing the real thing justice. He sat in an isolation room at a table, his hands folded neatly on the surface, waiting. It had taken Mitchell just two hours to track down the scientist and bring him back to Prime for questioning.

Sam watched him through the security camera feed. The feelings that had inundated her in the office flickered through her mind. She worked to keep them at bay, knowing she needed every ounce of concentration when interviewing him. It had not been her forte in the SGC to interview detainees, but she been privy to enough of them to learn a few tricks.

Mitchell stood next to Dekker, his bulked arms folded across his expansive chest.

"Where'd you find him?" Rachel asked, looking at the monitor.

"Sleeping it off in his apartment with a hooker," he said.

Sam's most important concern was the timeline. "Was she with him all night?"

"She said they met up after a bar closed around two. She didn't know when he got there, only that he walked her out, and they ended up back in his apartment until we came to get him this morning."

Sam took a deep breath. "You believe her?"

Mitchell snorted. "Yeah, she was scared shitless. Had no idea who we were, probably thought we were cops. She bolted as soon as we told her she could go. She has no reason to protect Vineland."

"Okay," Rachel agreed. She looked to Sam. "You ready to talk to him?" She moved toward the door of the interrogation room.

"Wait," Sam said, stopping her. "Might be better if I go in alone. He doesn't know me. It'll keep him off balance if I'm doing the talking."

Rachel hesitated, but then relented with a disappointed shrug. "Have at it. I just want you to be prepared for his mind. It's a sewer."

"Yeah," Sam replied. "I got that from his file." With that, she opened the door to the interrogation room and stepped within it.

Vineland looked up at her, smiling politely. "As I live and breathe," he said with a slight southern twinge in his voice. Sam could not place it decisively, but it rang of the Deep South, like New Orleans. It was higher than she expected, as if he were talking gently to a child. "If it isn't the charming and enigmatic Major Samantha Carter." He stood obediently and held out his hand.

Sam stepped forward, but did not return the offer. She sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She waited until Vineland retracted his hand and took a seat again. He looked nonplussed at her rejection.

"I was only trying to be polite," he said, sugary sweet and false. His eyes, dark and sharp, bore into her, scanning her ever so slightly.

"I think we can forego the pleasantries, Mr. Vineland. I have some serious questions for you."

"And I probably have some serious answers, Major. May I call you Sam?"

"No," she answered without missing a stride.

"Well, you can call me Newton. Everyone does."

She gave him no latitude to get comfortable. "Where were you around nine last night?"

"Reading a book in my apartment on deep space telemetry. I was so excited you were coming to Prime that I thought I'd read up on your cover story, maybe swap anecdotes. Quite an exciting field, actually. Did you ever wonder what life would be like if you really did that job instead of jumping through wormholes?" he asked whimsically.

She had seen enough interrogations, had even conducted some herself, to know not to get sidetracked during an interview. "Can anyone account for your whereabouts?"

"Major," he said in mock defense, "I'm a solitary man. I don't socialize all that much. A man like me doesn't have many friends."

"Yet you took someone home with you last night from a bar."

He gave the accusation no merit. "I got bored. I went out for a drink. She was attracted to me. I wasn't ready for the night to be over, so she came back to my apartment. She was a lovely woman," he continued. "She thought she knew the score. Who'd have thought she was with such a vile man?"

"And she was with you all night?"

Vineland's eyes scanned Carter's body. He made no attempt to hide his actions. He gave a satisfied sigh when he was done with his examination. "We had sex until seven this morning. I can't call it 'lovemaking'. That would imply there was something more to it. And we all know lying is a sin."

"Ellen Bainbridge was assaulted last night."

"Yes, I heard about that when that gorilla, Mitchell, came to collect me," Vineland said, patronizingly. "It was shocking news. Just shocking."

"Yeah, I can see you're all broken up about it."

"Oh, come on," he said. "You really expect me to feel bad that someone got as fed up with her as I am? Like I said, we all know lying is a sin."

"So are other things," Sam said. "They found trace evidence in her house. What are the odds it'll lead back to you?"

"Zero!" he said solidly. "Major, I don't know how else to convey to you that I wasn't there. Now, unless you have something a little more substantial to fire at me, I'd like to get back to work on the MALP. My shift started an hour ago." He smiled pleasantly. "I understand we'll be doing some development on it. I'm looking forward to working so closely with you."

She could feel the sleaziness in his tone dripping onto her bare forearms as his eyes once again passed over her, lingering in different areas.

"I'm afraid I can't allow that," she said, trying to keep her voice neutral and purposefully bringing her position as an officer and pseudo-informant to the fore. She took comfort in it, realizing in mere seconds what her dedication to her career had afforded her. Her allegiance to the SGC was unwavering. For the first time in a domestic setting, she used it as leverage against a man she did not know but knew was bad for the genetic pool.

"And why not?" he snapped haughtily, not expecting her response.

"Until we can verify your whereabouts last night, you're in lockdown. Once you can be cleared, you'll be back to work on the MALP." It was a lie. If she had any say in it, Newton Vineland would never touch another MALP unit in his lifetime.

He held out his hands before him in a pleading gesture. "You're convicting me of the crime without a trial, Sam," he said, purposely using her first name.

"Right now, I am the all-knowing, infallible God of your universe," Sam said confidently. "The Air Force will back me on this, Mr. Vineland. If I tell them you should never see the light of day again, they'll take my word for it."

"You won't do that, though, Sam," he said, emphasizing her first name again. "You're too good at following the rules. That's your forte, you know. It's what keeps you out of trouble and what got you in such a pickle with some of those missions of yours."

Her senses tingled at his hints. He was successfully baiting her. "What missions would those be?"

"All of them, from what I can tell," he said. "I see your name over and over again, always doing the right thing, always being so upstanding. Didn't you ever wonder, just once, what it would be like to be a bad girl?"

"It's interesting that you know that," Sam said. "The SGC doesn't make it a habit of letting those mission records become public knowledge."

"Oh," he said in a knowing way, "you'd be surprised what Prime knows. It's rather like watching a soap opera some days. I've even made a few extra dollars in the company pool about mission outcomes." He winked slyly at her, grinning slightly. "You're always a good bet for me."

She was not about to bite on the lure he was dangling in front of her. "Did you assault Ellen Bainbridge?"

Vineland rolled his eyes in disgust. "Now why would I do that? I may not like the woman, but I do have my limits."

"I find that hard to believe. Your criminal record is prolific, to say the least."

"So, I'm a suspect to you because I made a few mistakes in the past?"

"I don't call raping three women 'mistakes'. They were violent crimes, and you managed to walk away from them unscathed."

He brushed off the accusation. "You have your good friend to thank for that. To tell you the truth, Sam, she's more my god than you ever will be. You're more eye candy – a fantasy, if you will. I do so love a woman who can handle a gun." He grinned, loving the idea.

Sam willfully detached herself from Vineland's game. He was trying to pull her into his world, his fantasy, to get her to bite at his comments. She had seen this before, when system lords had used similar tactics. What Vineland could not know is the resolve she had developed inside her from experiencing blatant torture at the hands of those tyrants. She had resisted and overcome more than Vineland could possibly have known by reading reports. He could only fantasize about the power contained in such interrogation devices as the Blood of Sokar and Tok'ra memory devices. The danger lay in what it might inspire him to create with the endless resources of Prime Power.

"Somehow, I doubt that, Mr. Vineland. You prefer your victims don't fight back and that you can control them completely."

He gave a heavy sigh, as if tired of listening to her. "Harsh," he said. "In any case, Sam, you're going to find that I am completely innocent of harming Doctor Bainbridge. I think the evidence will prove that. I've never even been in her house. Nor would I want to be. And really, let's face it – she's not my type. I prefer them, shall we say, younger – more complacent?"

His vile description of his victims was nauseating, but somehow, it was unexpected to Sam. She had been prepared to some degree of his attitude and his values.

Sam stood. "We'll be talking again soon, Mr. Vineland. Let's hope you don't show up as a suspect. You don't want to meet the people who will have an interest in you then."

Before she could answer, she turned her back on him and left the room.

Rachel sat at the monitor console bank. She leaned back in the chair once Sam was out of the interrogation room.

"I tried to warn you," she said, still watching the monitors at Vineland's perfect posture and neatly folded hands.

Sam refused to waste time. "Where's his office?" she asked, already leaving the monitoring area and forcing Rachel to catch up with her down the halls of Prime with its muted light and maroon carpet.

"Hey," Rachel called, finally evening up their strides. "You all right?"

No, Sam, thought, she was anything but all right. It was not that Vineland had gotten under her skin. He had merely left a slimy film with his eyes. She felt herself getting closer to an answer. The whole point had been to find those answers and do the right thing.

"I'm fine," Sam said confidently. "I want to see what he has locked up in there. And would you mind explaining to me what he meant by the company pool on mission outcomes?"

Rachel dodged the question with a nervous laugh. "It's not what you think."

"I'm thinking all kinds of things right now," Sam said, with no mirth. "Your best bet is to set me straight."

"It's based on MALP telemetry and video," Rachel said in confession. "When we get those units back, we watch the mission data and analyze it. But after you've been analyzing four thousand data sets, you begin to look for something to make it enjoyable. So, some of them made a game out of it. Most of it is nothing, no more than 'guess the atmospheric contents'. Some video, though, makes for a bonus."

Sam had no idea what to say to her. The whole idea was so vain and ludicrous that she felt she might explode with anger and Prime's invasion of a very private war for some SGC members. There was no telling what Prime's staff had seen in terms of the death and destruction of very human people who had willingly put themselves in harm's way on another planet to protect their own.

Rachel guided Sam to a locked office door, which she opened with the same prox card she had used on Sam's office. They stepped inside as Rachel called for Archie to turn on the lights.

Newton Vineland was not only a freak socially, but he was a neat freak. His office was pristine and perfect. Sam immediately noticed the symmetrical stacking of papers, the few there were on his desk. Everything was at perfect right angles or some variation of an even geometric pattern. His chair was pushed neatly under the desk, awaiting his return.

Sam moved toward the desk where Vineland's computer terminal sat. She pulled back the chair and sat down in it.

"He's going to get all excited you did that," Rachel commented offhandedly.

Sam shook her head, ignoring the fact, and focused on the terminal. She entered the super user information. Archie immediately responded that she was cleared to proceed.

"Archie," she said, "search Newton Vineland's personal directories for any files pertaining to Major Samantha Carter." She felt odd saying her name in the third person, but it was the best way to make sure Archie understood. Computers, to the best of her knowledge, did not understand the concept of "me" or "I".

"Archie, belay that order," Rachel called out quickly, stopping the search. She looked pointedly at Sam. "He's got a serious thing for you," she said. "There's no telling what he's got in there."

"Stop trying to protect me, Rachel. It's only making you look guiltier. Every time you do that, I find something more I didn't expect to see."

"Fine," Rachel said shortly. "Have at it. This is the one area I know nothing about because I refuse to step into Newton's world. He's like Salavador Dali on crack, and he has nothing short of a constant hard-on at the mention of your name. I just don't want you opening up something that you can't reconcile."

"And you can?"

"We've learned to deal with him and all his eccentricities. We've learned to take away his power."

Sam turned back to the console. "Congratulations. Archie," she called out, "continue search."

Archie complied. Rachel did not attempt to intervene with the command. Almost immediately, Archie found personal files containing Sam's name. She opened the first, knowing that was where she had to start.

She steeled herself for what was in the file, replaying in an instant Vineland's disgusting demeanor and deciding he ranked on the short list of people she wished she had never met in her life.

The file, to her surprise, was technical data. Her name was associated with it because she had written the report on stabilizing MALP telemetry in gates with heavy atmospheric electrical disturbances. He included his own brilliant notes and insight, proving he was as smart as Rachel said he was. He was far-thinking, able to deduce answers from limited data and put it to use in improving MALP technology.

There were hundreds of reports, and all of the followed the same pattern, to the point that Sam was opening each one and skimming to find the truth. About three quarters of the way down the listing, however, what she had been looking for sat there plain as day amid all the technical reports Vineland had produced. She stared at the report titles, unbelieving.

He had not even bothered to change the names of the records to hide them. She read the titles, one after another – medical, psychological, technical – all the evaluations she was subject to as a member of SG1 on a regular basis. Not that she liked Vineland in any way, but she hoped there was something different in each report, that somehow, he would not have been that stupid.

Stupidity was universal, she concluded. The reports were genuine. He had been caught with the reports in his personal queue, probably figuring no one would have noticed or had the stomach to enter his office and look for them.

Sam sat back in the chair, looking at an image of herself and the report on her contact with Jolinar. It was all there – Janet's report, MacKenzie's evaluation, even General Hammond's notes on the matter within the service record.

She had found the culprit.

"Holy shit," Rachel breathed, looking down at the screen. "Sam, I . . ."

"I know," Sam said, cutting her off, "you didn't know a thing about this. I'm getting used to hearing that."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The observers watched as Subject 1 followed the path of discovery the hierarchy had predicted. It had set out markers for Subject 1 to follow, and they had been followed perfectly. Subject 4's reaction to Subject 1 had been perfect, also, as it had been planned.

The observers watched Subject 4 in the interrogation room, noting its silence. Then, it erupted.

"Mitchell!" Subject 4 yelled. "Mitchell, you big gorilla! I want a glass of water."

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Subject 30192 stepped inside toward Subject 4.

"You're not getting shit," Subject 30192 said. "Bad enough I have to see you every day."

"Bring me a glass of water," Subject 4 said, "or I'll start a vicious rumor that you and I are having an affair. I do like 'em big, you know. I'll make it stick, Mitchell. Everyone will believe me, or at the very least, doubt you."

Subject 30192 hesitated, calculating. "If I get you a glass of water, will you shut the hell up?"

"I'd be most happy to," Subject 4 said.

The hierarchy began its own calculating. An opportunity had presented itself. The hierarchy relayed its commands to the actuators, who set forth, following Subject 30192. It would be a matter of timing and transportation. Some dropped down for a ride, scuttling and hopping along the subject's arm until they were in position, completely unnoticed.

Subject 30192 retrieved a paper cup and approached a water receptacle. As the water flowed into the cup, so did the actuators, still undetected. They floated around, controlling their buoyancy with ease, despite the subject's jostling of the water. All that was necessary was to stay away from the surface of the glass. The actuators moved in formation to the bottom of the glass for safety.

The observers watched as Subject 30192 brought the glass with the actuators into the interrogation room and sat it in front of Subject 4 with the actuators inside it.

"Why, thank you ever so kindly, Mitchell," Subject 4 said. "And my offer was sincere for a relationship, if you're ever interested in trying something new."

Subject 30192 scowled. "When hell freezes over, you little worm."

Then Subject 30192 was gone, leaving Subject 4 alone with the glass of water and the actuators. The observers watched as the actuators flowed into Subject 4's body without so much as a fight. Their mission was simple, as the hierarchy had determined. All the observers had to do now was watch for the results.

Subject 4 leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. He smoothed his hair back with his hand, smiling at no one, though the hierarchy deduced there was knowledge of a surveillance system. The actuators were swimming, gaining formation. It would not take many of them. Their target was small and required only a small compliment to destroy.

Suddenly, Subject 4 took a deep breath, holding it, in pain. The actuators' work had begun. The target was isolated and easy to get to, given the ability of an actuator to push through organic material as needed. From there, they would regain formation and head straight for the core of electrical cardiac impulses that kept Subject 4 alive.

"Mitchell!" Subject 4 yelled, clutching his chest. He pushed away from the table, setting it askew. "Mitchell!"

The door to the interrogation room opened. Subject 30192 appeared. "What?" he asked sharply, not fully appreciating Subject 4's distress.

"I think," Subject 4 gasped, "I think I'm having a heart attack."

"Nice one," Subject 30192 said. "Let me know when you've kicked off."

Subject 4's distress became acute as the actuators closed in on the nerve bundle they required for success. Subject 4 fell out of the chair and on to the floor, clutching his chest. His body jerked with the pain of the flow of blood to his vital organs suddenly being disrupted.

Subject 30192 finally realized Subject 4 was having difficulty. "Oh, shit!" he breathed, leaving the room to call for a medical emergency in the interrogation room.

The observers watched impassively, reporting to the hierarchy as Subject 4's lips began to take on a bluish tone. He quickly became diaphoretic, and his respirations became shallow and short. No matter how quickly a medical team might respond, a time that the hierarchy had calculated, the actuators had long been complete in their work.

Eventually, Subject 1 and Subject 20192 entered the room, along with Subject 30192. They hesitated, discussing among themselves what to do. They made the decision to wait for the medical team, a fatal decision for Subject 4. Nothing they would have done would have made a difference, but it had been the sealing of fate for both the subject and the actuators.

And though the valuable actuators had been lost, the mission had been accomplished.


End file.
